


Temporal Pendency

by jaylie12



Series: Catching Time [14]
Category: Glee, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Staine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22627387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaylie12/pseuds/jaylie12
Summary: Holding patterns work for planes.  But eventually you need to land and deal with what's on the ground, or risk running out of fuel.  (Originally written in 2014.)
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Series: Catching Time [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615039
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third multi-chapter fic in the Temporal series. Picks up a few hours after the second fic. It's a bit of a different story from the first two--hijinks of the action variety don't come in until later in the story.
> 
> Thematically, the series has been about Blaine's entry into the Avengers universe--the first, his introduction, and the expected hesitation and self-discovery; the second, his full acceptance and fitting into the universe, and coming into his own; and the third... Well, you'll see.

“Professor Karchin?”

“Steve,” the older man greeted from behind his crowded desk. He gestured for Steve to come in. “I don't have anything for you to pick up today. How is Blaine?”

Steve took a step into the office.

“He went to class this afternoon. Did you not see him?”

“No,” Professor Karchin said curiously, dropping his pen and standing. “I was expecting him. His last email said he was ready to turn in his final composition for my first review today.”

Steve retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Blaine's phone, only to hear the voicemail message after several rings.

"What's wrong?" the professor asked.

"I don't know," Steve answered worriedly. "Please call me if you see him," Steve added as he backed out of the office.

"Of course," Professor Karchin replied. "And Steve, I'm sure he's fine. Let me know when you can."

Steve nodded and said, "Yes, sir," before hastening down the hall.

*

“Blaine?” Steve said gently, kneeling by the haphazard pile of blankets. Garnering no response, his gaze flicked to Blaine’s foot sticking out at the bottom, propped on a pillow. An ice pack lay partly against the swollen ankle and partly on the pillow, as if struggling to hold on. The small nightstand held an open bottle of Tylenol. Steve ventured to tug the blanket away from where he assumed Blaine’s head would be.

“Blaine?” Steve urged again when he uncovered Blaine’s face. Blaine stirred, his pained expression deepening as he woke. He blinked his eyes, and sighed at the lack of light in the room.

“Steve,” he whispered as he tilted his head to the side and a small smile graced his lips.

“Hey.”

“Did I miss dinner?” Blaine murmured.

“Yes, but we can get something if you’re hungry,” Steve answered.

Blaine thought about that before he answered, “I don’t think I’m hungry.”

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked.

“I don’t--,” Blaine started then paused, looking pensive. He shifted under the blankets and winced when his foot shifted on the pillow. “My ankle hurts. And my head--,” he trailed off as he closed his eyes and pressed his palm to his forehead.

“I’ll call Bruce and Dr. Warren,” Steve suggested worriedly. Blaine shook his head when Steve reached into his pocket and looked at him again.

“I’m okay,” Blaine insisted unconvincingly. He continued when Steve began to protest, “Sleeping helped.” Blaine smiled wanly. “Maybe you were right, I should have stayed home for a few more days.”

“Won’t argue with that,” Steve replied kindly. “I still think Dr. Warren should at least look at your ankle.”

Blaine sighed and nodded, “okay.”

“Do you want to stay here? Or go back to Stark Tower?”

“Your bed’s better,” Blaine conceded wistfully. Another small smile and Steve managed to return it.

“Come on then,” Steve encouraged. He pushed the blanket off Blaine and offered a hand to help him sit up. The resulting throb of pain in his head elicited a moan and Blaine had to squeeze his eyes shut when his vision blurred.

“Blaine?” Steve asked worriedly, holding onto him as he slumped. Blaine cried out again and pressed his forehead against Steve’s upper arm. He tilted his head to rest on Steve’s arm, gripping it tightly and whimpering painfully. “Blaine,” Steve murmured concernedly, running tentative fingers along Blaine’s temple with his free hand.

“I’m okay,” Blaine whispered. “I’m okay.”

“Definitely not okay, love,” Steve protested without any heat.

“I’m okay,” Blaine asserted weakly.

Steve kept quiet and slid his arm under Blaine’s legs. With as smooth a motion as he could muster with his current body, he lifted Blaine into his arms and carefully adjusted him. Blaine whimpered at every jostle, no matter how gentle or brief. But he still pressed close to Steve’s chest and let his head fall against Steve’s shoulder. Steve held himself as steady as possible as he made his way to the door, jaw clenched with worry.

“It’s okay,” Blaine murmured tiredly. Eyes still closed and expression tense, he repeated himself several times as Steve proceeded carefully down the stairs and out onto the street.

Blaine stirred, groaning and squinting, when Steve stopped at the edge of the sidewalk next to a car. He looked around confusedly as the driver opened the back door and Steve ducked in.

“Why is there a car here?” Blaine asked quietly once Steve finished helping him buckle his seat belt. He leaned against Steve heavily, his head still aching but feeling a little relief.

“I called for one before I got here,” Steve answered simply, a little breathless.

“Were you going to take me by force?” Blaine teased tiredly, only managing a little indignation.

“It was just in case,” Steve reasoned. “I would have told him to go if you wanted to stay here.”

“Hmm,” Blaine hummed disapprovingly. He closed his eyes and settled his cheek against the warm cotton covering Steve’s arm. “You get a pass today,” he said, “but we are going to talk about this when I feel better.”

Steve didn’t respond as the driver pulled into traffic. The only sound inside the car making its way through New York City was Blaine’s occasional murmured “it’s okay” as he dozed.

*

Blaine was feeling better by the time they reached Stark Tower, the aches plaguing his entire body not gripping him so strongly. In fact, they were phantom pains as the car sped along—gone just as soon as his mind realized they had come. Blaine’s breathing relaxed and he only realized he’d fallen asleep when Steve was shifting him into his arms again. The pain lapped at his consciousness again, but it was tempered now. Fatigue held him near the surface, and he barely recognized the doors to the south entrance of Stark Tower before he was gone again.

Blaine roused with a cry of pain, the bright lights above spiking his headache. He turned his head, struggling to curl up on his side as more pain assaulted his chest and limbs. Strong hands held him until he stilled, whimpering his protest as his body gave up fighting. He felt the hands loosen and a soothing press of too-warm fingers along his cheek. Even with the pain, he recognized Steve’s touch.

“It’s okay,” Blaine murmured, breath hitching, unaware of the concerned look Steve shot Bruce as Dr. Warren and the nurse resumed checking Blaine for injury. Other medical personnel came and went in the triage area, receiving quiet orders from the doctor and delivering supplies.

Steve leaned over and kissed Blaine’s forehead, wheezing and coughing before whispering, “It will be.”

Blaine moaned painfully, his chest tight and breathing shallow, but he responded better to the doctor and nurses' prodding. Bruce pulled Steve aside. Steve kept his eyes on Blaine as an IV and oxygen were set-up, and the doctor assessed Blaine's breathing and foot. A few more quiet words to a nearby nurse elicited his departure and quick return with a package.

"You should sit down," Bruce advised quietly.

"I'm fine," Steve protested stoically, though he took in trembling breaths.

"Steve, you don't have the effects of the serum anymore. You stumbled in like you were drunk carrying Blaine through the door, which I know isn't possible. Is it your asthma?"

"I'm fine," Steve insisted breathlessly. Bruce leveled him with a stern gaze. Steve relented, and grabbed a stool from the corner and sat down.

"Good," Bruce said with a small smirk. He pulled a stethoscope off the small counter by the sink and checked Steve's breathing, patiently instructing the distracted man to breathe in and out. When he was done, Steve looked at him.

"Well, doctor?"

"You sound fine," Bruce answered perplexedly. "Barely a wheeze. How do you really feel?"

"More winded than anything," Steve replied, rubbing his palm over his chest and turning back to watch Blaine and the staff. "It did feel like an asthma attack when we first came in," he admitted. "Used to take me days to recover."

Bruce hummed and squeezed Steve's shoulder.

"Stay here. I'll be right back."

Steve barely nodded as he stayed focused on Blaine. The IV nurse had departed, but the other was assembling a tube and cylinder, and plugging a small unit into the wall outlet. Dr. Warren leaned over Blaine to shut off the glaring overhead lights, leaving the soft glow of the backlights to illuminate the nurse's work. He spoke quietly to Blaine, who nodded shakily.

*

The nurse handed Dr. Warren the hooked up nebulizer, who nodded her thanks and set it in front of Blaine's face. The nurse gathered the packaging and left the room.

"It's only me now. Better?" Dr. Warren asked quietly. Blaine nodded once, though the set of his jaw still indicated his pain. "Try to take deep breaths," she instructed as the smoke puffed out of the tube. Blaine took a wheezing inhale, coughing wetly. "Take your time."

A few more breaths in and out, and Blaine was breathing better. The wheeze and wet rattle in his lungs still persisted, but his lungs unclenched.

"There's no history of asthma in your chart," Dr. Warren mused as she scanned her clipboard, flipping the pages one-handed. "How's the pain in your foot?"

"Not bad," Blaine croaked out.

"And your head?"

"Still hurts," Blaine said groggily. "And everything feels loud."

"Feels loud?" Dr. Warren asked quietly.

"Like everyone's talking feels like a timpani," Blaine explained. He licked his lips and coughed again, a high wheeze coming out. "Sounds translated into feeling, like they do for deaf people at music performances."

Dr. Warren hummed curiously as she reached across Blaine and detached the small plastic tube to the nebulizer and attached it to Blaine's oxygen tube.

"Where else does it hurt?"

Blaine thought about it for a few moments, his thoughts sluggish. The sharp pains that were assaulting his body earlier dulled to throbbing now.

"My arm," Blaine murmured, tipping his head to his right. "Shoulder," he added with a wince when he tried to lift his hand.

Dr. Warren carefully tugged Blaine's sleeve up, but there was no evidence of an injury--no bruising or swelling, but when she gently explored the muscle and bone with his fingers, Blaine whimpered in pain.

Dr. Warren settled Blaine's left arm back on the bed with another perplexed hum. A nurse returned with a small IV bag and handed it to the doctor before retreating. She hung the bag beside the saline bag, tugged the attached thin tube straight, and twisted the end into the IV tube juncture.

"I'm giving you something for the pain," Dr. Warren informed quietly.

Blaine breathed out and murmured, "Thank you."

"It's only low-dose until we can figure out more of what's going on with you. I'm going to get an x-ray of your foot before wrapping it. Then we'll let you rest for the night."

Dr. Warren made another notation on the clipboard as she took the few steps to the door. Leaning out, she handed the papers to a nurse and ordered the x-ray.

The nurse nodded and added, "Happy's next door. Came down with a dislocated shoulder after a workout with Natasha about 15 minutes ago, but he says he's not feeling much pain."

Dr. Warren tilted her head, blinking.

"His left shoulder?"

The nurse looked at her surprised, then answered, "Yes. How did you know?"

"Just a hunch," Dr. Warren answered. "Kelly, do me a favor--ask radiology to send the portable x-ray. I don't want Blaine around too many people. Keep it too one or two persons at a time."

"Anything contagious?"

"Not to us," Dr. Warren said cryptically. "It's fine, for now," she added to allay Kelly's evident concern, "but please make it a priority. And have radiology run a full panel."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you."

*

"Dr. Warren?"

"Bruce," Dr. Warren said as she turned back to Blaine's room. "How much longer are you going to go before calling me Joan?"

"Probably a while longer," Bruce murmured with a hint of a smile and an absent wave of his hand. "How is Blaine?"

Dr. Warren stepped into the room, looking Blaine over before meeting Steve's worried eyes.

"Doctor?" Steve prompted, standing from the stool that was now next to the bed, and walking closer. Dr. Warren offered the two men an encouraging smile before sighing.

"There's not much I can tell you. He's clearly in pain but other than a sprained ankle, there are no visible signs of injury. He had an acute asthma attack, and a severe headache. He's sensitive to noises and light, though I'm not sure that's what's causing his headache. I've ordered x-rays for tonight. Then I think we should let him rest. There are more tests we can run in the morning."

"MRI?" Bruce asked.

Dr. Warren nodded, and added, "I'm fairly certain I can rule out any kind of hemmorhage or stroke. Barring any worsening of his condition tonight, I'm inclined to stick with that. The x-rays will give us some idea, and the MRI should confirm any findings, or lack of. And I'll see if any CTs are warranted."

Bruce nodded in understanding as Steve looked between the two.

"Can I stay?" Steve asked quietly.

Dr. Warren glanced at Blaine, restless under the thin sheet and mumbling quietly.

"I'd like you to take a break first," Dr. Warren advised when she looked back at Steve. "Blaine needs to rest. And you need something to eat. I'll have Kelly bring in a recliner for later."

Steve nodded reluctantly.

"And you must sleep in the recliner. No falling asleep on the stool by the bed," Dr. Warren warned. Steve looked to protest but remained silent. "Blaine will be okay," she assured with a gentle touch to Steve's arm. With another downward tilt of his head, Steve rounded the bed. Dr. Warren turned to Bruce as Steve leaned over Blaine, giving the man some privacy.

"I'd like to look over what research you've done on the foreign substance we found in Blaine's blood. And the anomalies in yours and Steve's."

"There's not much. You have something?"

"Just coincidences so far. Can you bring everything down to my conference room? I should have Blaine's latest bloodwork soon."

"Of course. Shouldn't take me longer than 15 minutes."

"Make sure he eats something first, would you?" Dr. Warren asked with a knowing look and tilt of her head toward Steve. Bruce chuckled quietly. "I'll meet you after I make rounds." With another encouraging smile, Dr. Warren stepped out of the room and headed for the nurse's station. Bruce turned and waited as Steve kissed Blaine gently on the forehead. The two headed out of the infirmary and to the elevators, Bruce gently guiding Steve toward the cafeteria.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter full of exposition. Sorry about that, but it's kind of necessary. And the angst was supposed to go on longer, but I just couldn't do that to the boys. There will be more later anyway.

_Blaine winced again, pain spiking up his leg as he took another step. People walked past quickly, shifting around him and his slower pace. The headache that started just as he had stood seemed to grow with each step. He looked back, but the woman he had helped up moments ago was long gone._

_By the time he made it to his apartment building, he was breathless and clammy with sweat. The pulsing pain in his head blurred his vision and clenched his stomach. Unexpected emotions ran rampant through him--anger had his heart pounding and sadness had tears stinging in his eyes. He felt desperate and helpless. His entire body ached, making him clumsy as he fumbled his keys in the front door._

_The headache lessened discernibly when he closed the door, and the trek up the two flights of stairs to his apartment seemed much more bearable. He dropped his bag in relief when he entered his apartment, and managed to retrieve an ice pack, a glass of water, and the small bottle of Tylenol before he collapsed onto his bed._

_Blaine closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to slow his heart rate and calm his mind. His head still throbbed, but it felt like he'd passed the worst of it. He was exhausted. Emotions still flickered in and out, but weaker now, reminding him of the weeks following his attack from so many years ago. He'd spent months after with his therapist, facing his feelings and learning to cope, learning to understand himself and how to process his thoughts and emotions. Had he been ignoring the signs? Was this last encounter with aliens bringing up old feelings? His first 'adventure'--the attack on Stark Tower last year--had left him unsettled in its immediate wake, but now seemed a distant memory, his fingers and skin fully healed for some time._

_Blaine dismissed his thoughts for now. He took a couple pills, slipped his shoes off carefully, and situated a pillow under his foot, laying the ice pack atop. He'd been practically ensconced in Stark Tower for nearly a month, perhaps just being out was too much for him. Sleep would help. He tugged the blanket out from under him and settled under it, pulling it over his head to block out the afternoon light._

“How are you feeling?”

Blaine turned his head on the pillow as Bruce quietly approached. He blinked the remnants of sleep away and sighed.

“Pretty good," Blaine said, "until a moment ago."

“Headache?” Bruce asked softly with a tilt of his head.

“It was barely there when I woke up but it just got worse,” Blaine elaborated. Bruce hummed contemplatively. “What?” Blaine asked curiously.

“What are you feeling now? How does the pain feel now?”

“Um," Blaine paused, closing his eyes. "It’s steady. Hurts but not overwhelming.”

“And last night?” Bruce prodded further.

“Like someone was hammering at my head at unsuspecting moments,” Blaine explained.

“And when did you feel that?”

“It started on my way home—it was near constant. And so sharp it felt like my whole body was being slammed into. But it was much better when I got into my apartment. Still there but not so strong."

“Steve said it started up when he woke you up.”

Blaine opened his eyes again.

“Yeah, but it was different. That was more a throbbing ache.”

“And it’s gone now?”

“Yes.”

“Only to be replaced by a different kind of pain,” Bruce commented.

“I guess so.”

“Huh.”

“Bruce, what?” Blaine asked, frustration creeping into his tone. He spared a glance at Steve, still sleeping in the chair in the corner of the room. He still hadn't recovered his serum-enhanced abilities, including his metabolism that required very little sleep--Steve had surely stayed up as long as possible before succumbing to sleep.

Bruce stepped back until he was just beyond the doorframe and asked, “What about now?”

“I don’t--,” Blaine started, but then his mouth dropped open. “It’s less,” he marveled. “Still there but less.”

Bruce came back into the room and sat on the stool by Blaine’s bedside. Blaine watched him expectantly.

“Bruce, do you know what’s going on?”

“Not the whole picture, but I think some of the pieces are falling into place," Bruce said. "Dr. Warren and I have some hypotheses.”

“Okay--,” Blaine trailed off expectantly.

“How did you hurt your ankle?” Bruce asked, leaning forward.

“I--,” Blaine struggled. “I must have twisted it,” he reasoned.

“Think about it. When? What were you doing?”

“I was helping a woman who had fallen. She said her ankle might be sprained, but when she stood up, she was fine.”

“And that was when your ankle starting hurting?”

“Yes, right after we stood up and she left.”

"Hmm."

"Bruce, please tell me what you're thinking," Blaine pled.

"We think you've gained the ability to take other people's injuries as your own. Essentially, you can heal them."

Blaine stared at him.

"Breathe, kid," Bruce instructed, laying a hand on Blaine's shoulder.

"But--," Blaine started, then took a deep breath. "Who did I get the headache from then?"

"That may come from a different cause. Remember when I stepped further away and you felt better?" Bruce pulled his hand back and waited for Blaine to nod his understanding. "I think you've also become empathic. You can feel what other people are feeling, maybe even take some of it just like you took that woman's sprained ankle." Bruce added, "I certainly feel better when in physical contact with you. Not entirely, but there's definitely less anger."

"I can't--," Blaine started. "It can't be possible," Blaine said quietly.

“You kept saying ‘I’m okay,’” Steve murmured. Bruce and Blaine looked over at the recliner, Steve pushing aside the blanket and sitting up. “When I was carrying you down from your apartment.”

“You’re awake,” Blaine commented, smiling and reaching a hand out. His smile disappeared quickly when Steve stood but made no other move to come closer. “I remember,” Blaine said slowly. “I didn’t know what was going on. I was so worried.”

“Not you,” Steve shook his head and looked away.

“You were thinking those things,” Bruce concluded. Steve’s gaze landed on Bruce and they shared a look.

“I can read minds too?” Blaine asked, wide-eyed.

Bruce laid a hand on Blaine’s arm and asked, “Can you tell what I’m thinking?”

Blaine looked at Bruce’s hand, then back at his face before answering, “No. Just a little anger.”

Bruce smiled ruefully and dropped his hand from Blaine’s arm.

“Perhaps you are more attuned to Steve, and therefore more able to understand his emotions.”

Blaine looked back at Steve, who avoided his gaze. He gripped the blanket draped over him, ready to throw it off, hop off the bed, and wrap his arms around Steve.

“What does this all mean for Blaine?” Steve asked after a beat, gaze steady on Bruce.

“Dr. Warrren and I—we reviewed your bloodwork,” Bruce explained, giving Steve a stern look before looking back at Blaine. “What we thought was an unknown chemical dissipating from your blood, was actually an organic vector carrying a very short strand of DNA. That DNA has now attached itself to your own, and is replicating along with your regular DNA. Hence, the vector broke down and left no trace.

“We need to run some tests to confirm our suppositions,” Bruce continued. “And analyze your DNA. I’d like to also have you work with Natasha and myself to learn how to compartmentalize—maybe you can control it. At the very least, we can help you deal with the added emotional stress you’re undergoing.

“In the meantime, we limit your exposure to people.”

“We live in New York City. How are we going to limit my exposure?”

Bruce gave him a sympathetic look, eyes flickering to Steve’s falling expression.

“No,” Blaine argued, wincing but otherwise ignoring his headache as he sat up higher. “I’m not staying in Stark Tower. It’s already been weeks. I have school. I’ll lose my gigs. I need to--,” Blaine trailed off, flopping back onto the bed and closing his eyes. His headache was spiking and errant thoughts were confusing him.

“I don’t hate you,” Blaine murmured. Steve and Bruce shared a look. Steve backed away from the bed, standing just inside the door frame and casting his eyes down.

A soft touch from Bruce pulled Blaine’s attention and he opened his eyes. The headache had lessened again. His eyes flickered to Steve’s bowed head and even without his new ability, Blaine knew what Steve must be thinking.

“For now, it’s just a few days. Get your ankle healed up and see if we can do anything about those headaches,” Bruce offered with a small smile. Blaine nodded tiredly. “You won’t have to spend that time here. Dr. Warren thinks you’ll be fine staying upstairs for the duration.” Bruce spared a look at Steve.

“An MRI this morning and more bloodwork first,” Bruce ordered. “And Natasha’s itching to see you and play with your new skills,” Bruce added with a chuckle.

“Did I hear someone say MRI?” Kelly asked cheerfully, leaning into the door. Blaine smiled wanly and Bruce stepped back from the bed. Kelly came in and detached Blaine’s pulse oximeter and IV.

“You got here quick,” Blaine commented, relieved that her presence did not seem to worsen his headache. “You stalking me?” he asked with a smirk, a little forced as he tried to ignore Steve’s still averted gaze.

“What can I say?” Kelly shrugged. “My favorite patient and all.” She smiled as she turned off the monitors and Bruce helped her lock the bed rails up. “We’ll stop by the vampire station. Shouldn’t be more than an hour. Then Dr. Warren will be by.”

Bruce nodded his thanks. Steve moved to the far corner of the room as Kelly unlocked the brakes and pushed the bed through the door. She ducked her head close to Blaine’s to whisper something and he laughed softly.

“Steve,” Bruce prefaced as soon as Blaine and Kelly disappeared through the double doors to radiology.

“Don’t,” Steve said with a raised hand. “Please don’t,” Steve repeated resignedly, closing his eyes.

Bruce squeezed his shoulder and said, “He’s going to be fine.”

Steve opened his eyes and looked at him. “You can’t guarantee that.”

*

True to Bruce’s word, Dr. Warren released Blaine shortly after his MRI and another check on his ankle. They, along with Bruce, spoke a little more about what type of testing of his abilities they would like to do after he’d had another day to recover. Steve was conspicuously absent during his discharge, but Natasha showed up to wheel him upstairs.

“I could have walked,” Blaine said petulantly, though he smiled tiredly up at Natasha.

“Well, it’s not like I do this for anyone. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Natasha smirked back.

“You just want to know what dirt I might be able to give you.”

“There is that,” Natasha commented thoughtfully.

They waited for the elevator in silence, but as soon as they were inside and the doors closed, Natasha asked, “What are you getting from me?”

“Not too much,” Blaine started. “Some spikes but they’re not entirely unpleasant.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re like a flute when they enter at the beginning of a piece.”

“You’re going to have to explain that one, Mozart.”

“They can be a little startling because they have a higher register—maybe even shrill if you’re not expecting them, but once they get going, they really add to the whole picture.”

The elevator bounced to a halt and the doors opened to the cafeteria. Blaine looked up at Natasha curiously.

“Figured you could use some real food,” she said with a shrug as she pushed the wheelchair out of the elevator.

“Thanks,” Blaine said. It was already late morning and he hadn’t eaten yet, and his headache had been calm enough to allow last night’s nausea to dissipate.

“You’ve got your emotions pretty locked down, don’t you?” Blaine asked.

“I suppose,” Natasha answered as she wheeled him slowly through the food preparation lines, fluidly grabbing a tray and loading it up with items for both herself and Blaine. Luckily, only a couple people were working the service lines as the lunch rush hadn’t begun, and the dining area was mostly deserted. Still, Natasha pushed them to a far corner.

When they were situated at a table and Blaine had taken a few bites of his omelet, Natasha asked, “So, what’s going on in the Hulk’s brain?”

“He’s not the Hulk right now,” Blaine reasoned.

“Might not have the big green guy, but his brain’s still there. Is he really that angry?”

“I don’t know. He’s got a good lid on it if he does.”

“How can you tell?”

“He comes off like a snare drum. There’s the constant, fast-paced drumroll, echoing like a snare would. But if you’re a decent drummer, you can keep that up for a long time and it doesn’t have to go beyond that quiet thrum. But snares have the potential for a much louder, much more significant sound. And it only takes one flick of the wrist to change it.”

“Wow, you really like those music analogies.”

“How my brain works,” Blaine tossed out with a small smile.

“How about that aged brain of Steve’s?” Natasha prodded further.

“Nat,” Blaine warned weakly.

“Enough angst to rival a teenager, huh?” she joked.

Blaine chuckled wryly, but sobered quickly as he added, “And enough pain to last three lifetimes.”

“And his music instrument?”

“A whole set of timpani at culmination.”

Natasha hummed contemplatively.

*

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Bruce said as he stopped the wheelchair in front of Steve’s apartment door.

“He’s in there?” Blaine asked instead. “You’re sure?”

“I asked Jarvis to keep me posted on his whereabouts,” Bruce answered.

“That’s a little creepy,” Blaine commented, watching Bruce lock the wheels and offer Blaine the cane that had been tucked in the back.

“Maybe so, but I’m worried about him as much as I am about you.”

“Thanks,” Blaine said as he took the cane and braced himself to stand. Bruce helped with a hand to his elbow.

“You did good this afternoon,” Bruce complimented. He added lightly, “Impressed Nat, which you know, isn’t easy.”

Blaine took a tentative step with the cane, and found his foot only twinging slightly. He sighed in relief.

“You’re not feeling too badly?” Bruce asked concernedly. Blaine shook his head.

“I’ve gotten used to the headache. And now that I know what’s going on, the new stuff isn’t so overwhelming.”

“Well, make sure you practice some of those techniques Natasha mentioned if things get too bad. And Dr. Warren already sent up a prescription for pain meds.”

“Definitely helps having only a few people around at a time,” Blaine admitted.

“We’ll work it out,” Bruce offered encouragingly. “I’ll see you in the morning. Come down to my lab when you’re ready.”

Blaine nodded and waved as Bruce steered the wheelchair back down the hallway. When he turned back to the door, he took a deep breath and pressed his palm to the small screen beside the door.

*

The windows were dimmed against the setting sun as Blaine stepped inside. His eyes settled on Steve quickly, as always seeking and easily finding the man. Blaine sighed as he looked at Steve, leaning back on the couch with his head tipped to the cushions. His eyes closed and breath slow, Blaine knew he was asleep. Blaine smiled at that—he’d found Steve either asleep or falling asleep at odd times during the day since he’d lost his faster metabolism. Blaine likened him to a puppy, though he hadn’t said so aloud.

Blaine made his way slowly over to the couch, looking Steve over. Though his jaw was slack with sleep, the tension still lined his forehead. Blaine sighed again before bracing his knee on the arm rest and leaning over to kiss Steve’s forehead.

Steve stirred, lifting his head and blinking at Blaine. When awareness settled in, Steve stood quickly but carefully, and stepped back. Blaine sighed at the spiking headache and set his foot down gently.

“You’re done for the day?” Steve asked quietly, looking Blaine over but avoiding his eyes.

“Yeah,” Blaine answered soberly.

“Are you hungry? I can make something,” Steve offered, already edging toward the kitchen.

“I’m okay,” Blaine countered. “I’m actually a little tired.”

“Do you want to sleep?” Steve asked.

“I think that might be good,” Blaine replied resignedly. When Steve didn’t offer anything else, Blaine took a step closer. Steve looked at him warily. “I wouldn’t mind company,” Blaine said softly.

Steve mirrored Blaine’s step closer but hesitated and said, “Why don’t you head in? I’ll be along shortly.”

“Steve--,” Blaine started, but his headache worsened and Blaine didn't need to see Steve’s pleading eyes to know Steve was panicked and scared. “Okay,” Blaine relented.

Blaine turned and limped to the bedroom, bracing himself on the doorframe so that he could turn back to Steve, still standing in the same place. “You won’t be too long?” he asked a little desperately.

Steve shook his head, offering a sad smile. Blaine returned it before stepping into the bedroom.

*

“Steve?” Blaine murmured groggily.

“I’m here,” Steve answered.

“You’re not,” Blaine countered sleepily, sliding his arm over the cool sheets next to him.

“Do you need something?” Steve asked. “Your pills are on the nightstand.”

Blaine rubbed his cheek against the pillow and yawned before he blinked. The room was dark now, and he could only see Steve’s silhouette in the chair by the window.

“I need you,” Blaine replied, stretching his arm toward Steve.

“Blaine--,” Steve trailed off.

“Come lay with me,” Blaine requested tiredly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Steve reasoned.

“You won’t.” When Steve didn’t respond, Blaine sighed. “I seem to recall a similar conversation about a month ago. And that time, I had my guts torn up and put back together. I think I’m in considerably better shape this time around.”

“You were barely conscious when I was carrying you last night,” Steve persisted.

“That was last night. It’s better now,” Blaine protested.

“Is your headache gone?” Steve challenged with no heat.

Blaine sighed again and asked, “Are you worried that you’re going to hurt me or that I might learn all your secrets?”

“What if learning all my secrets does hurt you?” Steve murmured sadly, looking away.

“Steve,” Blaine prefaced sternly. Steve looked back at him. “I’ve already learned your biggest ones and I’m still here. I don’t think you can top the whole frozen-for-70-years super hero thing.”

Steve huffed. “No, I don’t think I can.”

"It’s okay,” Blaine soothed when Steve still remained seated. “I can feel you from over there anyway.”

Blaine turned his still outstretched arm, offering his open palm.

"Please,” Blaine whispered a moment later.

“Blaine, we can’t--,” Steve let out. “I can’t say ‘no’ to you.”

“Then don’t.”

After another silent beat, Steve stood and approached. But he didn't take Blaine's hand. Blaine took the hint and tucked his hands under his cheek as Steve pulled off his button-up and shed his slacks. Steve sat down on the edge of the bed and watched Blaine's face for any signs of pain. If he experienced any, he showed no signs.

“Just,” Blaine said, “lay next to me.” Steve nodded and slid under the covers, lying carefully on his back and closing his eyes. Blaine watched him. He reached a hand out carefully, letting his fingers barely touch Steve’s temple. Steve flinched away, turning regretful eyes to Blaine.

“It’s okay,” Blaine assured again with a sleepy smile, letting his hand rest between them.

Steve tried to settle, keeping his head turned to Blaine. Blaine inched closer, but did not reach out for Steve again. When Steve closed his eyes, Blaine did the same and sighed, breath warming the space between them. Steve let out his own breath, his heart assuaged by Blaine’s steady breathing and assurances.

“Love you too,” Blaine mumbled sleepily. Steve stilled, eyes opening again. He looked down at Blaine, but the other man only sighed again and drifted fully into slumber. Steve's fingers itched to touch, but he held back, choosing to watch Blaine until sleep claimed him as well.

*

Steve started awake, eyes flying open just as a rough groan escaped his lips.

“Blaine,” he gasped out, looking down at a mess of curls. Blaine hummed his reply, swirled his tongue around the head of Steve’s penis, and slid his lips down a couple inches. He suckled hard, eliciting another gasp from Steve, before returning his attention to the head, sucking and licking enthusiastically.

Eyes closing against his will, Steve gripped the sheets around him and struggled for breath. The remnants of sleep, and the warm, wet suction on his erection scattered his thoughts.

“Blaine,” Steve whined breathlessly, head pressing back into the pillow and muscles tensing. Blaine gripped Steve’s thighs, the muscle unrelenting, as he stretched his mouth wide to take him in just a few inches. Blaine sucked hard and swallowed, feeling Steve tense further. He withdrew to the head again, using his tongue to tease the slit and crown while he repositioned his arm and slid his hand between Steve’s thighs. He stroked two fingers under Steve’s scrotum and along the perineum, searching the flesh there until he felt the slight swelling underneath. Steve gasped again when Blaine wrapped his lips around the head and suckled again. Pressing and rubbing the pad of his thumb around the spot on Steve’s perineum had Steve curling up and his head thrown back as his orgasm crested.

Blaine lowered his mouth further over Steve’s erection as he came, catching the semen in his mouth and swallowing around Steve, eliciting more shocks of pleasure. When Steve’s cock was spent, Blaine pulled back to lick the shaft clean. Steve’s muscles trembled from the exertion, and the continued attention. He took in shaky breaths. With a last slow drag of his tongue around the head, Blaine reached across a still gasping Steve for the tissues and wiped his mouth.

Straddling Steve’s thighs, Blaine soothed his palms over Steve’s still clenched hands and kissed at the whitened knuckles until Steve let go of the sheets. He moved his way up, pressing kisses along Steve’s torso, and nipping lazily at Steve’s collarbone and jaw.

When Steve had sufficiently recovered, he opened his eyes to Blaine’s sparking eyes and pleased smile hovering over him.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve told you that I’m really enjoying that you need more than four hours of sleep a night these days.”

“You’re enjoying it?” Steve asked confused. Blaine laughed, kissing Steve. Steve craned his neck to follow when Blaine pulled back before the kiss deepened, and Blaine chuckled again.

“Well, hopefully, you’re enjoying my preferred method of waking you up too,” Blaine said with a smirk. He leaned in, and brushing his cheek along Steve’s jaw, he kissed at the skin below Steve’s ear. Steve sighed as Blaine trailed his lips along his neck and flicked his tongue against Steve’s earlobe before sucking gently. Steve’s hands came up to cup Blaine’s jaw, pulling him into a kiss that Steve deepened quickly.

It was Blaine’s turn to sigh as Steve’s tongue swiped across his and sent pleasure through his body. He pressed his hips down, rocking his erection against Steve’s abdomen. Steve’s arms went around Blaine, holding him close as he rolled them. Blaine moaned at the change, at the weight and friction against his hard cock.

“Did I hurt you? Am I hurting you?” Steve asked breathlessly, opening his eyes and looking concernedly down at Blaine. Reality shadowed his eyes and he untangled himself even as Blaine shook his head and wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders.

"Blaine," Steve chastised as he resisted Blaine's pull. Blaine winced. “You’re hurting,” Steve observed. “We should stop.”

Blaine made a frustrated sound before replying, “Yes, my ankle is still sore. But my penis is fine.”

“Blaine,” Steve let out, sounding scandalized.

“I just need to,” Blaine said as he readjusted his leg, “move it a little out of the way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure I’d really like to finish what we started?” Blaine asked impatiently. “Yes, Steve, I’m sure.”

They shared a look—Blaine’s challenging raise of an eyebrow and Steve assessing eyes. When Steve’s lips finally lifted in a smile, Blaine’s did too.

“How would you like to finish this?” Steve asked.

“With you in me,” Blaine answered. “You up for it?”

“I think I can be persuaded,” Steve replied teasingly.

“Excellent,” Blaine whispered as Steve finally let Blaine pull him back in.

*

“You still feel okay?” Steve asked idly, trailing his fingers along Blaine’s arm and shoulder. Blaine sighed at the feel of Steve’s lips brushing against his jaw. He snuggled closer, feeling safely ensconced in Steve’s embrace—Steve’s leg draped over his legs and an arm, a heavy weight over his chest.

“My head felt fine when I woke up—I felt good when I woke up. I wanted to share that.”

“I’m glad you did,” Steve said softly. Blaine pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“But you are starting to give me a headache,” Blaine admitted. He poked at Steve’s arm playfully. “Don’t worry so much,” he whispered conspiratorially.

Steve huffed and said, “I’ll try.”

“Even before this happened, I knew you carried so much with you,” Blaine revealed seriously. “All the time. I know it won’t go away, but it’s okay to share some of it. I’m stronger than you think.”

“You are strong,” Steve agreed, lifting his head up to look Blaine in the eyes. “Stronger than I am.”

“Sometimes,” Blaine amended. “My chances are better with you.”

Steve rested his head on Blaine’s shoulder again.

“You should come with me today,” Blaine suggested.

“Okay,” Steve agreed after a beat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read with care--our boys will be fine, but there is some serious mental health stuff going on (feel free to ask me anything before reading if you need too).

"How are you holding up?" Pepper asked from the doorway, smiling warmly at both Blaine on the bed and Steve sitting beside him.

"Well, Bruce and Dr. Warren had me visiting patients to see if I really was empathic with physical pain." Blaine waved his arm limply, the IV tube swinging. "Turns out that's true."

Pepper took a step in, but kept her distance. Blaine sighed.

"You can come closer," Blaine invited. "Unless you're feeling a lot right now, the drugs are doing a good job of dulling the pain," he added lightly, though he let his head fall back to the pillow tiredly.

Pepper smiled again, approached, and said, "You're taking this rather well."

"I'd be more excited if these mutant abilities weren't overshadowed by the constant headaches," Blaine admitted.

"Oh, but then you couldn't get the good stuff," Tony commented, coming into the room and stopping at the foot of the hospital bed. "They won't even give that to me, and this is my medical ward."

Blaine closed his eyes, tension lining his face. Steve slid the stool a little distance away, glaring at Tony. A flash of chagrin crossed over Tony's face when Pepper looked at him disapprovingly, and he stepped back. After a few moments, Blaine opened his eyes and smiled gratefully at everyone.

"I read Dr. Warren's report," Pepper said. "No luck controlling it yet?"

"No," Blaine sighed. "I'm going to work with Nat and Bruce this afternoon again."

"You could be doing some good," Tony ribbed.

Blaine leveled his gaze on him. "I know."

"So why aren't you?" Tony prodded further.

"Tony," Pepper chastised.

"We haven't tested the physical empathy yet," Blaine said. "Dr. Warren wouldn't let me actually touch anyone."

"That's because just being in the same hallway as the tech with the electrical burn had you shaking so bad and none of us able to touch you because everything hurt," Steve said.

"I might have been able to heal him," Blaine argued.

"Well, it's not like we can't run our own test," Tony said, moving over to the small cabinet and sink in the corner, and pulling open a drawer. He came back with a syringe and gauze, setting the cotton squares at the foot of the bed and tearing open the syringe's protective wrapping.

"Tony, what are you--?" Pepper asked, alarmed, as Tony pricked his palm with the tip. Tony swore under his breath and Steve stood quickly. Blood appeared at the puncture and Tony held his hand steady, looking expectantly at Blaine.

"No," Steve said, grabbing hold of Tony's arm.

"Steve," Blaine said quietly. Steve looked at Blaine, whose expression was determined. "It's okay. Just a prick."

Steve relented, letting go and taking a deep breath. Blaine nodded at Tony, who touched his other hand to Blaine's ankle. Blaine hissed at the pain, fingers closing reflexively in a fist and hand coming up to his chest protectively. Pepper grabbed the gauze and both she and Steve reached for Blaine's hand. With gentle touches, Steve loosened Blaine's fingers so Pepper could press the gauze to the blood already gathered there.

When Blaine's expression relaxed and his hand went slack against Steve's strong hold, everyone looked at Tony. With a smug look, Tony held his palm up. No needle prick was evident, and only a small smear of blood remained.

"Impressive," Bruce commented wryly. Everyone looked over at the doorway. "But hardly following standard scientific practices."

Tony waved dismissively and quipped, "You know me."

"Unfortunately, I do," Bruce said wearily. Pepper smirked and tugged on Tony's sleeve.

"You've had your fun for today," Pepper chastised. "Let's let Blaine rest." Tony looked about to argue, but she added, "If you ask nicely, you can play tomorrow."

Tony grumbled but let Pepper guide him out of the room, leaving Bruce shaking his head.

"Let's make sure that doesn't get infected," Bruce said, retrieving alcohol pads and tape from the cabinet. He tended to Blaine's hand as Blaine tipped his head back, taking a deep breath and blinking tiredly. He turned his head to look at Steve.

"I'm okay," he whispered, small smile gracing his lips. Steve returned it half-heartedly. "You worry too much," Blaine murmured teasingly, eyelids growing heavy.

"I know," Steve said somberly.

"How's your head?" Bruce asked kindly.

Blaine looked back at Bruce, the answer evident in Blaine's pained expression and sluggish blinking, contrary to his soothing words to Steve a moment ago.

"How about I order you lunch, and take Steve for some food?" Bruce offered. He spared a glance at Steve, who despite looking at Blaine worriedly, did not protest. "Take a nap before we see Natasha," Bruce suggested.

"I think that would be good," Blaine agreed, reaching out and squeezing Steve's hand before closing his eyes.

"See you soon," Steve said softly. Blaine hummed in acknowledgement, sleep already pulling him under. Steve squeezed back before setting Blaine's hand back on the bed, stroking his fingers along Blaine's relaxed ones and following Bruce out of the room.

*

"You're not keeping your distance today," Bruce observed as he and Steve sat at one of the cafeteria tables with their food.

"Blaine wants me around," Steve returned simply, picking at his food.

"And it doesn't give him too much of a headache?" Bruce asked.

Steve looked at Bruce before answering, "Blaine says it's not too bad."

The two ate in silence for a few moments.

"He's lying," Bruce said. Steve looked at him again and slumped back in his chair.

"I know."

*

"Why are we on the roof?" Steve asked as he and Blaine came through the access door and spied Natasha.

"Wanted to be away from as many people as possible," Natasha answered, putting the tablet down by her feet. She tucked her hair behind her ears against the wind. "Not the most ideal, I admit, but it will do." She pointed at the mats set out on the concrete and sat down. Steve took the cane Blaine handed over and helped him sit.

"How many instruments?" Natasha asked.

"What?" Steve asked as Blaine closed his eyes to concentrate. Natasha held a hand up.

"Four," Blaine answered, blinking. He turned to Steve and explained with a smile, "I've been describing the types of headaches as instruments."

"Which ones?" Natasha asked.

"You. Steve. A pretty mellow oboe. A sax with a spastic improvization. Barely though."

Natasha smirked as she looked down at the tablet.

"Pepper and Stark are in his office."

"I'm guessing Pepper is the oboe," Steve said, smirk barely gracing his lips. Blaine laughed. Natasha tilted her head amusedly before looking back at the tablet.

"That's 200 feet down. Quite the range there, kid."

"Good or bad?" Blaine asked.

"Depends on if you can get a handle on it." Natasha set the tablet down again. "Imagine how many people are in a 200 foot radius on a New York City sidewalk."

Blaine sighed heavily and Steve reached over to offer a comforting hand.

"Ah," Natasha waved a finger at them and Steve withdrew before making contact. "He needs to focus and from what I've heard, you two touching pretty much throws that out the window."

Steve glanced down, looking properly chastised. Natasha added teasingly, "Unless you like having an audience, that is."

"Nat," Blaine said sternly, though his smile was equal parts embarrassed and amused. Steve shook his head and sat straighter.

"I think we'll keep that private," Steve said.

"Ruin all my fun," Natasha playfully griped.

"Can we get back to work?" Blaine asked with a laugh.

"Hmm, yes," Natasha agreed with a smirk.

*

"Good work," Natasha commended, standing. Blaine and Steve followed suit.

"I still can't control it."

"Maybe not the receiving. But you can discern it and push it aside so it's not consuming your own thoughts and emotions." Natasha retrieved her tablet and pad. Steve picked up the other two after handing Blaine his cane.

"And we did learn that focusing on a particular person could increase your reception of emotional distress. That'll probably work with physical pain too. Also, that you have at least a 600 foot range when you really try."

Blaine nodded, agreeing reluctantly.

"Any ideas why he can only get the negative emotions?" Steve asked.

Natasha shook her head and said, "Bruce and I have talked about it, but we don't have anything."

The three walked to the access door and headed down the stairs.

"I'm heading out of town for a few days. SHIELD mission," Natasha said. "Practice with more people around but don't overdue it," she instructed. "See you when I get back?"

"Of course," Blaine answered.

They parted ways when Natasha got off the elevator before Steve and Blaine. Blaine took Steve's hand as soon as the doors closed and leaned into his side.

"Tired?" Steve asked gently. Blaine nodded against Steve's shoulder. "Back home then?" Blaine nodded again. Steve pressed the appropriate button on the panel.

"I hate how exhausted all this is making me," Blaine complained.

"It will get better," Steve said encouragingly.

"I hope so," Blaine breathed out.

"It will."

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Blaine made no move so Steve shifted his arm around Blaine's shoulders and bent over, lifting Blaine into his arms and carrying him down the hall.

"You really should stop doing this," Blaine murmured, though his arms hung heavily around Steve's neck, the cane barely hanging from his fingers.

"I like doing this," Steve assured, a little breathless.

"I like you," Blaine volleyed back. Steve huffed a laugh. He opened the door and made his way to the bedroom. He set Blaine on the bed, and Blaine took his pain pills before lying down, eyes already closed. Steve sat on the edge of the bed and Blaine reached blindly for Steve's hand.

"I'll make some dinner," Steve said, rubbing his thumb over Blaine's knuckles and the warm metal on his ring finger. "Wake you in an hour?"

"Yes, please," Blaine agreed. He pulled Steve closer by the hand and kissed him, a little off center but tenderly. He blinked when he settled back down, gazing fondly at Steve. "Thank you."

"I love you," Steve said.

"Love you too," Blaine returned with a smile.

*

Another two days spent working with Bruce, Tony, Steve, and Dr. Warren yielded little new information. Bruce completed the assay on the alien DNA but had yet to find a way to safely disconnect it from Blaine's original DNA sequence. However, Blaine made a breakthrough on the second afternoon.

"No more cuts," Blaine declared, frustrated as Bruce disinfected yet another one on the tip of his finger. Band-aids and scabs covered his palms and forearms. Steve looked on worriedly from his seat at Bruce's desk, but kept quiet. "I'd still like to be able to play the piano," he griped with a glare at Tony, who held his hands up in surrender.

"On the plus side, you seem to be healing faster than the average," Bruce commented as he wrapped a small band-aid around Blaine's index finger. "I estimate about twice as fast."

"Doesn't really help," Blaine admitted defeatedly, slumping where he sat on the counter.

Bruce smiled bracingly and replaced his supplies in the medkit, handing it off to Steve. Tony ambled back over.

"One more time?" Tony suggested.

"No," Blaine refused sternly. They eyed each other, but before Blaine could shy away, Tony pressed a finger to Blaine's knee. Blaine's eyes widened and he gripped the edge of the table to brace himself for the pain. No matter how many times he'd done this and anticipated it, it still startled him and the initial flash of pain hurt much more than he expected.

Steve and Bruce stormed over and Steve pulled Tony away, but no pain came. Blaine loosened his grip and glared at Tony. Bruce laid a hand on Steve shoulder, and Steve let go of Tony. Steve moved to Blaine's side, crossing his arms.

"Where?" Blaine demanded.

Tony extended his right arm, revealing a long gash across his forearm, blood beading along its length.

"Tony," Bruce muttered disapprovingly.

"Thought the others might have been too mild or something," Tony offered but no one acknowledged him. They were all looking at Blaine's arm, clear of any identical cut.

"What did you do differently?" Bruce asked, stepping around Tony and taking a closer look at Blaine's arm.

"I don't know," Blaine answered contemplatively.

"Tony, get over here," Bruce ordered. Tony hastened over. "Try again."

"Doctor," Steve protested.

"Try again," Blaine echoed Bruce's words, though he looked only at Steve. Tony touched Blaine again, this time resting his palm on a knee. Nothing happened. Quiet seconds ticked by and Blaine slowly smiled. A smile tugged at Steve's lips.

"Blaine?" Bruce asked, pulling Blaine's attention from Steve.

"I just really didn't want another cut."

"That simple?" Bruce prodded further.

"Seems so," Blaine answered with disbelief.

"Damn, that stings," Tony grumbled, dabbing at the cut with a tissue.

"Serves you right," Bruce muttered, sharing a smirk with Steve and Blaine before grabbing the medkit again. He swatted Tony's hand away and cleaned the cut, pressing the alcohol swab a little harder than necessary against the wound. Tony hissed.

*

"I can do it," Blaine stated.

"I know," Steve said. "I know," he repeated more confidently.

"And you are not following me around," Blaine warned.

Steve huffed and hung his head. "I know."

"I'm taking a car so I don't have to deal with the subway," Blaine reasoned, "a meeting with my advisor, and a 90-minute lecture."

"A lecture with 30 people," Steve interjected.

"I've been down to operations twice and the medical bay at least three times a day. I can manage."

"I know," Steve repeated, this time resignedly.

"Dr. Warren and Bruce both think I should get back out there in small doses," Blaine said, rubbing his forehead. "And I really have to get caught up."

Steve hung his head again, trying to temper his worry and compartmentalize like Natasha taught them. He lifted his head when Blaine pressed a warm palm to his jaw. Blaine leaned up and kissed him gently once, twice. Steve let out a breath when Blaine pulled away.

"Thank you for worrying about me," Blaine said. "And thank you for trying not to worry about me." Blaine smiled encouragingly, slipping his arms around Steve's neck. "Now kiss me," he ordered playfully.

Steve wrapped his arms around Blaine's waist and pulled him close, smiling and murmuring a "yes, sir" as their lips connected.

*

"Blaine, it's so good to see you," Professor Karchin greeted. Blaine smiled widely and tugged his bag off his shoulder. "How are you?"

"Better, thank you," Blaine replied, taking a seat across the desk from the professor.

"And that strapping boyfriend of yours?"

"He's good," Blaine answered honestly, "though still worrying."

"He cares for you," Professor Karchin commented.

"He does," Blaine agreed.

"Well, ready to work?"

"Absolutely."

The meeting went well, with the professor detailing his critique of Blaine's composition and giving Blaine ideas to explore. The lecture also went smoothly, with many of his classmates greeting him and wishing him well. Blaine managed the crowd well, their excitement at seeing him return seemingly pushing aside most of the negative emotions.

Blaine sighed when he stepped out of the building, his ever-present headache spiking as students milled about the sidewalk and other pedestrians walked quickly by. He focused his mind on his own thoughts, effectively dulling the pain of others' emotions, as he scanned the nearby cars for his ride. He found the black sedan with the Stark logo on the side just as the driver's side door opened. Blaine smiled at the familiar face and hurried over.

"I didn't think you still had driving duties."

"I make an exception every now and then," Happy said as he opened the back door and Blaine slid in.

"It's nice to see you," Blaine said when they were both back in the car. Happy smiled in the rearview mirror, started the car, and pulled onto 11th Street. "And nice to not feel you," Blaine murmured, relieved that his headache further dulled as they traveled back to Stark Tower.

*

Blaine was almost back to his usual school schedule after another few days, though it left him exhausted and falling asleep as soon as he got back to Stark Tower.

That Friday, Blaine paused after exiting the bookstore, purchases stowed in his school bag. This was the first time venturing by foot around campus, previously avoiding too much time on the sidewalks. But he had felt good today, and decided to test his tolerance. Happy was probably already waiting for him just down the street. He looked into the windows of the student health center, seeing various students sitting miserably on the waiting room chairs. His headache ramped up.

Someone brushed up against his elbow, knocking his bag off his shoulder.

"Sorry," a rough voice said, followed by a wet cough. "Blaine?"

Blaine turned at his name, already feeling pressure behind his eyes and sinuses, his throat burning, and a churning in his stomach.

"Matt," Blaine said, trying to focus his mind and mentally saying "no." But it was too late. Matt cleared his throat and tipped his head back and forth, stretching his neck and looking confused.

"You stopping in?" Matt asked.

"No," Blaine said, his tongue feeling thick. "I didn't see you in Crit yesterday."

"I've been battling this flu for four days now. I finally gave in and made an appointment, but I feel much better all of a sudden."

"Sometimes they come and go really fast," Blaine offered lamely. He felt hot and cold.

"I guess," Matt said. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Blaine dismissed with an aimless wave. "I'm heading home now."

"Okay. Well, I should head in, since I made an appointment and all. See you in class."

"Yeah," Blaine said belatedly, Matt already opening the door to the health center. Blaine turned down the street and dragged his tired body to Washington Street, coughing and shivering. Happy took one look at him, smile disappearing, and ushered him into the car.

*

"What happened?" Dr. Warren asked from behind the nurse's station when the medical ward doors opened.

"Happy said he picked him up this way," Steve said, Blaine's bag on his shoulder and an arm around Blaine's waist. Blaine was pallid and he shivered despite his warm coat. Dr. Warren rounded the counter, held her hand to Blaine's forehead, and drew his attention to her face. His eyes were glazed and his shallow breath wheezed in and out.

"Just the flu," Blaine rasped out. "A friend bumped into me."

"This is not just the flu," Dr. Warren corrected. "Well, come on." She waved away the nurse waiting behind her and guided Blaine and Steve down the hall. Once settled onto a hospital bed, she checked Blaine's vitals, tsking at the 101 degree temperature and his wet lungs.

"You're getting a chest x-ray and as soon as I've confirmed it, we'll start you on antibiotics."

"Confirmed what?" Steve asked as he set Blaine's bag and coat in the corner. Blaine coughed loudly, cringing in pain as he curled on his side and rubbed his chest.

"Pneumonia," Dr. Warren said, rubbing a comforting hand over Blaine's shoulders. Blaine took a shaky breath, only to cough again. When his lungs settled, he seemed to sink into the bed, limbs limp. Steve bent over to brush Blaine's damp hair away from his warm forehead before tugging the blanket up and around Blaine's tired body. Dr. Warren slipped out of the room.

"I'm okay," Blaine wheezed out, blinking dazedly at Steve. Steve pulled the stool over and sat down.

"I know," Steve said quietly as Blaine closed his eyes.

*

Steve slipped into the bathroom, clad in a t-shirt and boxers, the ajar door an unspoken invitation. He yawned just as Blaine shut off the shower, grabbed the towel off the rack and held it just outside the shower curtain.

Blaine stuck his head out, looking startled at the towel before him for a moment before taking it and smiling tiredly.

"Thanks," he said quietly and disappeared back behind the curtain.

"You're up early," Steve observed.

"I wanted to get an early start," Blaine explained, voice muffled by the towel. He ran the towel over his hair and torso, and around his legs before wrapping it around his waist.

Blaine looked startled again when he drew the shower curtain aside and Steve stood there, hand extended.

"I'm okay," Blaine asserted, a little breathlessly.

"I know," Steve replied with a quirk of his lips. Blaine shook his head with a wry laugh and took Steve's hand. Steve helped him out of the shower and to the sink. Blaine leaned back on the counter, watching Steve grab another towel. "But can I help?" Steve asked quietly as he held up the cloth.

Blaine relented with a sigh and nod, closing his eyes as Steve gently dried his hair. He tipped his head forward, relaxing under Steve's ministrations, so much so, he missed when Steve pulled the towel away.

Steve pressed his lips to Blaine's forehead, sighing.

"You're already tired," Steve said against Blaine's damp skin. Blaine turned his head, pressing close and resting his cheek on Steve's chest. Steve's arms came around his shoulders.

"The weekend's over. I have to go to class," Blaine said, quietly determined. They stood together, breathing synching.

"I know," Steve said somberly, the words so familiar now.

"You're thinking too hard," Blaine teased. He wrapped his arms around Steve's torso and squeezed.

"I know," Steve repeated, this time with a hint of amusement in his tone.

They moved apart after another moment, Blaine offering an encouraging smile. Steve helped Blaine finish getting ready and the two shared a quiet breakfast. They made their way to the garage, hands together. Steve rubbed the platinum around Blaine's ring finger during the elevator ride, and handed over Blaine's bag as Happy opened the car door. With a grateful smile and a gentle kiss, Blaine got in the backseat.

*

The pneumonia was completely gone in another couple days, and Blaine avoided any more accidental run-ins. While not as fast as serum-Steve or the Hulk, Bruce and Dr. Warren still marveled at his faster healing rate. Blaine dutifully detailed his days to Bruce, the scientist hoping to glean any more insight to Blaine's new abilities. Natasha had returned, and they resumed their practice sessions.

Blaine found himself walking by the health center again, almost every day now. On the fourth day, he pulled the door open and stepped in. The waiting room was relatively quiet despite being full, save the occasional outburst of coughing or sneezing. Everyone sat hunched and miserable looking. A young woman was crying in the corner, face pinched in agony as she wiped at her tears angrily.

Blaine ducked his head to hide his grimace, and he closed his eyes against the increased headache and the aches assaulting his body. He focused on shutting off the physical empathy and the pain ebbed from his body, though not completely. His ability worked fast, and he heard several of the patients shuffling in their seats. He opened his eyes to see a previously hunched over woman straightening and touching her forehead in confusion. Another man cleared his throat, and set a box of tissues on the coffee table slowly. Blaine shook his head to clear some of the sinus pressure, but it remained. He ignored it, shuffled to the nearest empty seat, and honed in on the woman still silently crying in the corner. The cacophonous headache shifted and moved to the background, leaving a lone discordant violin--out of tune and screeching as if the bow hadn't been rosined properly. As the violin cresendoed and morphed into a grating, squealing atonal symphony of an entire orchestra of unsynchronized strings, Blaine gripped the chair arms and closed his eyes again.

When the headache steadied and Blaine took a couple deep breaths, he opened his eyes. His gaze flickered to the woman, and he tried not to stare too obviously. The woman was dabbing at her eyes, the lines on her forehead less deeply etched, and the sadness overcast rather than a storm cloud over her expression. She looked around the room, catching Blaine looking at her. He smiled quickly, waving just his fingers. Her returning smile was shaky and barely there, but she sighed and dabbed at the corners of her eyes again.

Blaine took another deep breath and stood, doing his best to push aside the still jarring headache that now grew as he abandoned his focus. He let the aching increase throughout his body, but stopped short the nausea that tickled at his stomach. With a last glance at the now slightly more animated patients, Blaine pushed through the door and onto the sidewalk.

Happy smiled at Blaine's approach, but made no comment on whether he noticed Blaine's slower movements or ashen complexion. Blaine smiled back.

Blaine stopped by the health center every day after that. He saw the woman again--Julie, he learned--and sat next to her. He made small talk, making her laugh wetly and forget her tears for a few moments. And when he touched her hand gently, he watched her expression lighten. A nurse called her name and she left with a small smile. Blaine slumped in his chair when she was out of sight, the resulting headache and swirling emotions from the touch overwhelming him. Five minutes later, he stood and made his way out of the building, taking some of the ailments with him.

*

Steve watched Blaine trudge into the apartment, drop his bag, and trip himself onto the couch, where he groped for a pillow and stuffed it under his cheek.

"I'm okay," Blaine said, voice muffled by the pillow. Steve ran the towel over his damp hair one more time, draped it on a dining room chair, and perched on the coffee table.

"You're home later than you said," Steve commented quietly, setting his elbows on his thighs.

Blaine turned his head and opened his eyes, blinking at Steve. He sighed.

"I took a walk," Blaine explained vaguely.

"The health center?"

"Yeah." Blaine sighed again.

"You're going everyday now."

"So?" Blaine challenged.

"I just want you to be--," Steve started, only to be silenced when Blaine lifted his head and glared at him.

"Careful," Blaine finished for him. "I'm helping people," he asserted.

"I know," Steve said with a nod.

"I'm fine," Blaine added, exasperated.

"I--," Steve started but Blaine cut him off again.

"You know, yes. You keep saying. But you're not really thinking that are you?" Blaine got up from the couch before Steve could answer. "I'm going to bed," he shot over his shoulder and retreated to the bedroom.

Steve watched him leave, and let out a slow breath. He got up, pulled dinner from the oven, and sat at the already set table. He ate without interest, his only companion, his chaotic thoughts.

*

The next week, Blaine went to Langone, the NYU medical center, and took the elevator to the psychiatric ward. His headache grew quickly and he didn't even make it out of the elevator when the doors slid open--his headache crowded out every thought or attempt to focus and his vision blurred. He slammed his hand on the panel, pressing several buttons. The doors closed and the elevator jolted to action. He stumbled out at the ground floor and through the doors, leaning against the outside wall of the hospital as he tried to catch his breath.

Blaine kept to the student health center for the next few days. He tried the hospital again though, slipping out of his evening class and making his way to First Avenue, thankful for the quieter streets. The hospital was also quieter, and he found a waiting room. He sat down, closing his eyes, and focused on isolating the psychiatric patients. He didn't have to try hard--they sounded the most out of tune and plaintive. Though he still couldn't stop his emotional empathy, all the practice with Natasha and Bruce he'd had these last couple of weeks had taught him how to pull the negative emotions from specific individuals more than others. People often wanted to share their emotional pain, but they also held onto it. Blaine found that if he focused on a particular person, he could pull the emotion from them entirely. He'd seen Julia another couple of times, and each time, he left her more unburdened. It wasn't a cure, but it gave her the chance to cope, to get better. He pulled on those most jarring instruments now, feeling the resistance but ultimately they slammed into his mind so hard, he jerked in his chair.

*

"What brings you by?" Bruce asked, looking up from his work. "Is Blaine--?"

"He's fine," Steve answered quickly. He stepped further into the lab. "Or so he says."

"You don't believe him," Bruce stated as he took off his glasses.

"I believe he thinks he is," Steve clarified.

"I haven't seen him in a couple days. He still going to the health center?"

Steve nodded.

"How's he been?" Bruce pressed. "Aside from the cold-like symptoms he insists on taking from the other students?"

"He's been short with me the last few days," Steve answered after a beat. Bruce frowned.

"Is it the visits to the health center or being around you?"

Steve didn't have an answer.

*

Blaine pressed his palm to the side of the building, slumping and headache now a full-blown migraine. His vision darkened and tunneled, his balance tipped, and he shivered as the cold night air touched his sweaty forehead and seemed to penetrate his coat. His heart pounded and his fingers shook as he gripped onto the strap of his bag. He closed his eyes, but could not focus, could not move the foreign thoughts to the back of his mind. But he knew they were foreign--doubts and suspicions, disconnected emotions and circular thoughts, fatigue and hopelessness--they had to be.

Blaine straightened slowly and shakily, and, keeping a hand on the wall to steady himself, he made his way down the street.

Happy was by his side before he even realized it, was tugging Blaine's arm over his shoulder and lifting him back onto his feet when Blaine realized he was on the concrete.

"Happy," Blaine murmured. His head swam and his stomach lurched with each movement, feeling as if he was on the high seas. He blinked slowly, but gave up. _What was the point?_

"I've got you," Happy said, making their way the last few steps to the car. Tears slipped down Blaine's cheeks. "We'll be home in no time," Happy comforted. He jostled Blaine, eliciting a groan, as he opened the door. He was more careful in coaxing Blaine into the backseat, but once there, Happy hastened to shut the door, get in the car, and drive off. Blaine lowered himself onto the seat, turning his face to the cool leather and tucking his shaking limbs close. He squeezed his eyes shut. _Why won't the world go away?_

The ride to Stark Tower was over soon, and when Happy opened the door, Blaine blinked up at him. An unusual calm blanketed his thoughts, and the near-migraine headache that had been his constant companion these days barely registered.

Blaine looked around for his bag and clumsily grabbed for it, his limbs feeling numb and disconnected. He stumbled out of the car, Happy's hand on his arm, and managed a smile.

"You feeling better?" Happy asked worriedly.

"Much," Blaine answered slowly. "I think I can make it upstairs."

"You sure?"

"Yes," Blaine assured. He cleared his throat to rid his voice of the roughness. "Thank you."

"Get some sleep," Happy advised.

"Definitely," Blaine agreed.

*

"I can see you thinking, Cap."

Steve huffed and opened his eyes. Natasha smirked at him.

"Nat," Steve half-warned, half-pleaded, shifting uncomfortably on the mat.

"How can you be so focused on missions, but not this?"

Steve ran a hand over his face in frustration.

"I know you have a big brain and all," Natasha teased, pointedly looking him up and down and eliciting another huff from Steve, "but you have got to learn how to turn it off once in a while." 

They shared a look, and Natasha laid a hand on Steve's knee.

"You'll get it," Natasha encouraged. "Close your eyes."

Steve did as told, and took a couple deep breaths.

"Let's try this: what's troubling you the most?"

"Blaine," Steve answered.

"Okay, what brings you the most comfort?"

"Blaine," Steve answered, quieter this time. "You see the problem, right?"

"Of course I do," Natasha dismissed. "Only it's not a problem."

Steve opened his eyes and asked, "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is it's not a single problem," Natasha said. "Rather, multiple ones. Therefore, they can be separated."

Natasha waved her hand in front of Steve's face and Steve closed his eyes again.

"Think about the most comforting situation this time," Natasha instructed. "Now put Blaine there with you." Natasha watched the tension leave Steve's expression--the stern set of his jaw relaxed and the lines on his forehead disappeared. "There you go," she praised softly.

Long moments passed with only their breathing filling the silence. Natasha kept watch on Steve's expression, testing how long he could hold whatever he was imagining. It was longer than she expected before Steve opened his eyes.

"That's a decent start," Natasha said, mildly impressed. Steve hung his head and sighed. "You going to tell me what got you all zen-like?"

Steve looked up at Natasha and answered, "Our wedding."

*

Blaine made it to the dark apartment slowly, but with no incident. He dropped his bag by the door and shrugged out of his coat, trailing it along the floor until he shook it completely off his arm. He ignored it as it fell to the floor and trudged to the bedroom, where he dropped onto the bed fully clothed.

_You shouldn't be sleeping. You don't deserve to sleep._

Blaine rolled onto his back and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Tears stung his eyes and the headache swelled.

_You can't keep this up. You can't keep anything up. You can't finish anything._

Blaine lurched off the bed, stumbling over sluggish legs and crumpling to the floor. His heart pounded in his ears. His vision blurred. His lungs hurt. His arms shook. Blaine pressed his forehead to the floor, trying to push the thoughts away. Sweat cooled his skin and he shivered.

_You're a disappointment. You haven't been a good son. A good friend. A good fiance. You've disappointed everyone._

Blaine crawled across the floor, tears blinding him and sliding down his cheeks. He winced and cowered as phantom fists connected with his abdomen and face. A kick sent him onto his side just inside the bathroom door, where he curled up and cried out as more came. The light flickered on.

_What kind of man are you? You're a freak. A fag._

More kicks and punches came as Blaine cried. Finally, a particularly hard jolt to his back spurred him into action. He crawled all the way into the bathroom and shut the door. The assault subsided, though the thoughts did not.

_Worthless. Who could like you? Want you?_

Blaine pulled himself up to the counter, ignoring the blurry, pale, tear-stained face reflected in the mirror. He forced his shaking arms straight to hold himself up, and unsuccessfully attempted to take a deep breath. His swimming vision played tricks on him as he looked at his forearms, lines crisscrossing across his view.

_You're not good enough. You're not doing enough. It's not enough. You're not enough._

The pain hammered his head, and the thoughts screamed in his mind. He felt himself tipping, felt his knees giving out, and flung his arm out, grabbing blindly at the small cabinet by the mirror and scattering the contents. His fingers closed around something as he fell, elbows slamming against the counter and knees hitting the floor hard.

_Why can't the world go away? You can't be here. You shouldn't be here._

Blaine clenched his fingers into fists, pressing his knuckles against his head, against the pressure that threatened to tear his flesh open and the scream that clawed at his throat.

*

"You want to order some dinner?" Natasha asked as they stepped out of the elevator.

"I hadn't realized it was so late," Steve said. "Blaine should be home by now."

"You got a little involved in that fantasy of yours," Natasha commented with a smirk. "You got the whole thing planned out, don't you? Well, if you never get your serum-self back, at least you've got a fallback: Steve Rogers, wedding planner."

"Hilarious," Steve said without any heat.

"I can leave you two alone--," Natasha trailed off as Steve opened the door.

"No, please, come in," Steve countered. "Maybe company would do us good."

"Things really that bad?"

"Undetermined."

They entered the apartment, the lights coming up slowly. Steve spied Blaine's bag and coat, dropped haphazardly on the floor. Both tensed, Natasha slipping over to the kitchen and illuminating the living room. Steve went straight for the bedroom, and caught sight of the rumpled sheets and the light under the bathroom door.

"Blaine?" Steve called out when he reached the door. No answer came. He leaned in to listen, hearing shallow breathing and panicked sobs. "Blaine?" Steve said again, hand going to the keypad.

The door opened easily when the panel registered his presence, and Steve blinked at the bright light. He stooped quickly, reaching out for Blaine but stopping short.

Blaine ignored his presence, and continued to tear at his shirtsleeves and scratch his arms. Blood trickled from one of his fists as angry red cuts covered his forearms and face. A particularly deep one just above Blaine's wrist spilled blood along his arm and over his clothes. Tears mingled with smeared blood on his cheeks and his eyes were red-rimmed and wild. A bunched up pant leg revealed bruises and more cuts. His whole body shook with his sobs and frantic breathing. 

An agonized whimper brought Steve out of his staring.

"Blaine?" Steve prodded, but still he was ignored.

"Steve?" Natasha called, appearing at the door. "Bozhe moi," she swore under her breath after a quick assessment. Steve looked at her wide-eyed. "I'm calling," she said, retreating to the common area.

"Blaine," Steve repeated more firmly. He risked grabbing Blaine's less injured wrist to still his panicked actions. Blaine froze, breath hitching and fingers going slack. Steve gently pried his fingers open the rest of the way and a razor clattered to the floor. Blood covered his palm and fingers, smeared across silver. Blaine stared blankly at his hand for a moment, then burst into a new wave of sobbing.

"Steve?" Blaine cried desperately, tears flooding down his cheeks and breathing coming in gasps.

"I'm here," Steve said just as desperately as he sat beside Blaine and pulled him against his chest. Blaine fisted Steve's shirt and clung tight, crying harder as Steve wrapped his arms protectively around him. Steve soothed a hand over Blaine's back, but Blaine's shaking only worsened. He pressed in closer, tears hot on Steve's neck and whimpers muffled against his collarbone.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said sadly. Steve just tightened his hold. "I'm sorry," Blaine repeated.

"Shhh," Steve soothed, but Blaine repeated the words over and over between sobs. By the time the apartment door opened and murmured conversation filtered to the bathroom, Blaine's tears had slowed.

"I'm sorry," Blaine murmured tiredly, his clinging to Steve's shirt weakening. Dr. Warren appeared at the door, along with two medics. Steve looked up at the woman helplessly. Dr. Warren crouched, scanning what she could see of Blaine.

Steve loosened his arms to give the doctor room, but Blaine tightened his hold and whimpered a protest. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face against Steve's chest.

"Blaine," Steve said gently, leaning back to look down. "I'm not leaving, love."

Blaine slowly pushed off Steve's chest, just enough to look up at Steve. His frightened eyes--wide, red, sad, and still brimming with tears--had Steve's chest tightening and his own tears welling. Blaine reached a trembling hand up, sliding a finger along Steve's jaw. Blood smeared in its wake and the tears slid down Blaine's cheeks again.

"I'm not okay," Blaine admitted wetly, followed by a weak sob. Steve cupped Blaine's face and swiped his thumbs under Blaine's eyes, brushing the tears away. 

"I know," Steve said sadly, pressing a tender kiss to Blaine's forehead and closing his eyes against his own tears as Blaine continued to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's non-explicit talk of mental health issues, and Blaine's canon Sadie Hawkins.

“Blaine?” Dr. Warren said kindly. Blaine started, grabbing Steve’s wrists and looking around wildly. His eyes darted from face to face—the medics, Natasha, Dr. Warren—before returning to Steve.

“I didn’t--. I wasn’t--,” Blaine mumbled, letting go of Steve and trying to wipe away the blood left behind. More tears slid down his face, increasing as he grew frustrated with the task.

“I know,” Steve soothed. He tried to still Blaine’s hands, but Blaine grew frantic.

“I didn’t hurt you,” Blaine pled more than questioned—as if he was trying to convince himself—as he rubbed harder at the blood stains.

“I’m fine,” Steve placated to no avail.

“Blaine,” Dr. Warren tried again, a gentle hand to his cheek. Blaine flinched and cowered back against Steve. He ducked his head against Steve’s chest. Steve wrapped an arm around his back comfortingly. Blaine continued to rub at the smeared blood on Steve’s arm.

“Too many people,” he cried softly, squeezing his eyes shut. Dr. Warren stood and stepped back.

“Prep an isolation room. Leave the kit,” Dr. Warren instructed the medics quietly. With silent nods, they exited the room. “Natasha, will you get Bruce and meet us downstairs?”

Natasha followed suit and retreated quickly. Dr. Warren slid the med kit close and crouched again.

“Better?”

Blaine nodded stiffly, but kept his eyes closed, thumb rubbing at Steve’s pulse point. Dr. Warren spared a glance at Steve and offered a small encouragingly smile. It did nothing to relieve Steve’s worried countenance.

“Mind if I take a look at your arm?” Dr. Warren asked with a duck of her head. Blaine shook his head, pulling Steve’s hand between them and swiping at the blood on Steve’s palm.

Dr. Warren opened the med kit and pulled out some gauze and a small spray bottle. She wet the cotton and held it out.

“Here,” she said quietly. When Blaine looked up at her confused and scared, she smiled and tipped her head. “We can clean up Steve first.”

Gratefulness flashed in Blaine’s fearful eyes, and he took the offered gauze with clumsy fingers. He winced as the alcohol stung his cuts, but otherwise, he ignored the pain and pressed the damp squares to Steve’s wrists. With slow, gentle strokes, Blaine cleaned the blood from Steve’s hands and forearms, taking new gauze when Dr. Warren held more out. Steve watched quietly, tears shining in his eyes at the care Blaine took, and the calm that seemed to grow in him at the action.

So focused on his task, Blaine didn’t notice Dr. Warren bagging the razor and even lifting up the edges of his sleeve to assess his injuries. When Blaine was done with Steve’s hands, he retrieved the clean gauze Dr. Warren held ready and cleaned the red from Steve’s jaw and neck.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said, eyes wide and fearful again, filling with tears, as he looked at Steve.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Steve said as he willed his own emotions away. Blaine sighed and tucked himself back against Steve’s chest as Steve’s arm came back around him. “Can Dr. Warren take a look at you now?”

“You can stay there,” Dr. Warren offered when Blaine hesitated. Blaine nodded after a moment, extending his arm for her.

The three remained quiet as Dr. Warren cleaned and assessed the many cuts on Blaine’s arms. She applied antibiotic ointment and only felt the need to bandage a few of the deeper cuts. By the time she finished both of Blaine’s arms, Blaine was leaning heavily against Steve and made no protest when he was rearranged in Steve’s lap so Dr. Warren could look at his leg.

“Blaine?” Dr. Warren prodded. “We’re going to take you to the medical ward.”

“I’m tired,” Blaine murmured, his eyes barely open.

“It’s not too much, but you have lost some blood.”

“Didn’t cut too deep,” Blaine said sleepily. “I know I shouldn’t.”

“How do you know that?” Dr. Warren asked.

“Read it online,” Blaine answered vaguely. His eyes closed again.

“When?”

“During study hall. Before algebra,” came the barely there response.

Dr. Warren sighed and looked at Steve. “Let’s get him downstairs. I want him on an IV and maybe a sedative.”

“I just wanted to help,” Blaine explained as Steve slung Blaine’s arm around his shoulder and stood. Steve set Blaine on the portable hospital bed left by the medics.

“Were you at the health center?” Dr. Warren asked.

“No. Went to the--,” Blaine trailed off tiredly.

Dr. Warren leaned close and pressed a warm palm to Blaine’s cheek. Blaine blinked, eyelids heavy.

“Blaine, where did you go?”

“Just wanted to help,” Blaine repeated, tears filling his eyes.

“I know, honey,” Dr. Warren said, schooling her expression and her mind. “Where did you go to help?”

“The hospital, school,” Blaine mumbled. He reached his hand out toward Steve, who took it in his own. “Just wanted to help.”

“You did, love,” Steve assured, leaning down to kiss Blaine’s forehead again.

“Tired,” Blaine murmured.

“Sleep, love. It’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Blaine echoed dozily, finally drifting into unconsciousness. Steve squeezed Blaine’s hand lightly before settling it on the bed. Dr. Warren lifted the brakes on the bed and set the medkit at the foot, next to Blaine’s legs before Steve wheeled the bed out of the bedroom.

Blaine didn’t stir during the journey to the infirmary, except for an occasional unintelligible muttering, and once he was settled in a room at the end of the ward, Dr. Warren pulled Steve out of the isolation room where they met Bruce and Natasha. She carefully shut the door.

“I should call Dr. Marmar at Tisch,” Dr. Warren said.

“What’s at Tisch?” Bruce asked.

“Blaine went there,” Steve answered. “The psychiatry department,” he surmised. Dr. Warren nodded.

“I thought he was just going to the student health center,” Bruce said.

“Trying to be a hero,” Natasha quipped wryly. “What’s with all you hero types?”

“How is he?” Bruce asked, ignoring Natasha’s tease and stepping around Steve to look through the window. Steve’s gaze followed Bruce’s. The nurse was redressing Blaine’s wrists and the hand that had held the razor, where the worst of the cuts were.

“The injuries aren’t severe,” Dr. Warren answered. “I think he’s sleeping more from exhaustion than anything else. We’ll see if his blood test indicates a need for transfusion, but I doubt it.”

“How was he when you found him?” Bruce asked.

“Scared and upset. He didn’t realize I was there at first.” Steve explained, eyes still trained on Blaine.

“He seemed to be aware of what was going on at points, even if he couldn’t stop it,” Dr. Warren added.

“But he was confused,” Steve said. “He said something about algebra. He’s not taking any math classes.”

“That may have been a memory. We’ll have to wait until he’s awake and more aware before we can untangle all of this,” Dr. Warren said. “I should make that call. See if any of the patients there are markedly altered.” With a nod, she took her leave.

“Come on,” Natasha prodded with a tilt of her head. When Steve looked at her curiously, she elaborated. “We never did get dinner.”

“I should--,” Steve started, only to be interrupted by Bruce.

“He’s going to be out for a while. No doubt, Dr. Warren will order a sedative so he gets some more rest,” Bruce reasoned.

Steve looked back at the window. The nurse was running a towel over Blaine’s face, cleaning up the tears and remaining blood.

“I’ll stay,” Bruce offered.

“I’m not much for company right now,” Steve said as he backed away from the window and looked at the others, fingers fisted tightly. “I’ll be back.”

“Steve,” Natasha called out as he turned, but Bruce shook his head.

“Leave him be,” he said sadly as Steve stalked down the hall and through the double doors.

Natasha took a slow breath in and out.

“Well, doctor, can I bring you something?”

*

Steve strode to the elevator and jabbed the button. When it didn’t come soon enough, he walked around the corner and into the stairwell. Taking the stairs two at a time, he started running when he reached the main level. He ran up 10, 20, 30 flights—ignoring his racing heart and heaving lungs. He wiped angrily at the sweat appearing on his forehead and pulled himself along the railing when his legs cramped and slowed, when his feet stumbled up a step.

By the time he reached his floor, he could barely breathe and everything ached. He limped his way down the corridor, bypassing his apartment and waving his hand in front of the opposite door. Lights flickered on as he tore off his button up, the blood-stained fabric dropping to the edge of a pile of mats. Steve went straight for the punching bag, slamming a fist into the worn leather. He pummeled the bag over and over, letting the burn in his lungs and limbs flare as he forced the bag away every time it swung back.

Finally, knuckles red and raw, arms drooping, and moisture clouding his vision, the bag swung back and Steve missed. He grabbed hold of it as he lost balance, his cheek banging into the leather, and slumped against it. Collapsing sluggishly to the floor, Steve dropped his arms and let the bag bounce slowly against his shoulder. He hung his head as his lungs took in much needed air, and straightened his aching fingers. The pain flickered along his hands, his cheek throbbed, his legs felt boneless, and his arms weighed heavy in their sockets. His sweat-soaked t-shirt clung to him. Steve sat there, just breathing and feeling the pain, welcoming it.

When his breathing returned to normal, Steve took a final deep, cleansing breath and hauled himself up. He grabbed the discarded shirt and trudged to his apartment. In the bathroom, he stared at the drops and smears of blood for a long moment before meticulously cleaning up the counter and floor.

Stripping the rest of his clothes off, Steve stepped into the shower, letting the hot spray of water soothe his muscles and nerves. He applied and washed away shampoo and soap automatically, tipping his head back tiredly. Tasks done, his thoughts returned to Blaine. He turned and, arms rigid, braced his palms against the shower wall. Standing fully under the cascading water, Steve let the tears fall.

Bruce made no comment when Steve reappeared two hours later, hair damp and eyes red-rimmed. Nor did he comment when Steve pulled a chair to Blaine’s bedside and sat, taking hold of Blaine’s limp hand. He merely stood from his seat by the door, and laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

*

Blaine slept restlessly, mumbling words and phrases that made little sense and crying tiredly. Steve dutifully wiped the tears that leaked from his closed eyes, whispered soothing words in Blaine’s ear, and pressed his lips to Blaine’s cheek when nothing settled him.

By midnight, Dr. Warren ordered a low dose of sedative and Blaine’s mutterings trailed off quickly. His breathing still hitched every now and then, but Steve thanked the doctor quietly. Bruce and Dr. Warren spoke quietly by the door and though he acknowledged her and Bruce’s parting words, Steve couldn’t recall them.

Once alone, Steve laid his head on the bed by Blaine’s shoulder, hand still holding Blaine’s, and drifted to sleep.

*

Blaine surfaced incrementally, his thoughts slow and his mind aching dully. His body also ached and even the thought of trying to move seemed too difficult to follow through with. Instead, he lay there letting awareness return in random pieces, out of order thoughts and images that he struggled to string together. Blaine abandoned the scattered recollections when he heard voices. Multiple instruments merged to form a cacophonous headache. A steady beat accompanied the throbbing.

“Dr. Marmar said the staff reported all the patients were showing a shift in their prognosis.”

“How many?”

“Fourteen. Including one who hadn’t been lucid since she was admitted two weeks ago, and another that was catatonic.”

“His powers are growing. Fascinating.”

“Blaine said the girl from the health center wasn’t completely healed. How long before the patients relapse?”

“I’ve asked Dr. Marmar to keep me posted.”

“What kind of diagnoses are we talking about?”

“Depression, OCD, personality disorders, bipolar, schizophrenia. They run the gamut. Three patients were on suicide watch.”

“Where does that leave Blaine?”

 _Steve._ Blaine tried to open his eyes, but he still felt sluggish and disconnected. His headache spiked.

“He went to the health center daily. He must be recovering fairly quickly for it to not be intolerable.”

“But the headaches have been getting worse. And his mood too.”

_I’m sorry. I was just trying to help._

“He’s been doing too much.”

“He won’t listen to me. Won’t even let me say it.”

_Because I know. You don’t have to say it, I know. But I wanted to help._

“We’ll have to keep him for observation. Who knows how his mind is absorbing all of this? If anything lingers, we could be dealing with delusions or mania, or even a psychotic break.”

“You said he may have had some mental health concerns before? That’s why he mentioned knowing about--.”

_Oh god. You know. I’m fine now. Really. Right?_

“Yes. I’ve had the staff pull his complete history. I’m not going into detail for patient confidentiality, but surely that mixed in with what he came into contact with last night is a lot to deal with.”

“So, we’ll keep him here until the symptoms completely dissipate.”

“I think it’s for the best.”

“He’s not going to like it.”

“Steve,” Blaine said, voice barely there.

“I’m here.” Steve’s voice was soft and close by, and Blaine could feel warmth against his hand.

Blaine forced his headache to the background and tilted his head toward the sound.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured roughly. The beat skipped and sped up. Blaine swallowed and repeated, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine, love,” Steve assured.

“You still love me,” Blaine said, voice small but relieved. A tear slipped from his eye.

“Of course,” Steve replied tenderly, knowing Blaine must have pulled the thought from his mind.

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know.”

“Got a little carried away though,” Bruce interjected lightly.

Blaine nodded minutely, the motion feeling big and ramping up his headache. Pain radiated down his leg and through his chest.

“I’ve got you on a sedative, Blaine,” Dr. Warren explained as Blaine struggled to open his eyes. “You’ll feel sleepy and a bit out of sorts. I’ll lessen the dose as we go, okay?”

Blaine tried to nod again, but gave up when dizziness swung his mind sideways. The beat grew louder and faster. The pain in his chest increased. Tears escaped his eyes unwittingly. Steve rested a hand against his temple.

“You’re okay,” Steve assured. The warmth soothed the panic lapping at Blaine’s mind. Dr. Warren smiled encouragingly at Steve.

“You were displaying severe anxiety and self-abusive behaviors last night,” Dr. Warren went on carefully. “Do you remember?”

Images and words fell into place and Blaine swallowed. The beat hastened again. The pain in his chest quickened his breathing. He managed to lift his heavy eyelids to look blearily at Steve.

“I’m sorry,” he said on a gasp.

“Blaine, it’s okay,” Steve repeated steadily.

“I didn’t know.” More tears came.

“You’re all right, kid,” Bruce said, coming up behind Steve. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut against the pain in his head and chest. The beat pulsed in his brain now, skipping and tumbling until it faded nearly away.

“I remember,” Blaine murmured before sinking back under.

*

"There's been no response to any of our communications," Tony said, tossing the tablet onto the table in frustration. It skidded to the other side, nearly falling off the edge. Pepper picked it up with a stern look.

"Thor?" she asked.

"Nothing. None of Fury's signals have worked." Tony leaned heavily on the table, staring at the various bits of data on the holographic projection and mumbling in frustration.

"Tony," Pepper said as she rounded the table and leaned in close.

"They did this to him. And they need to fix it."

"We'll figure something out," Pepper said encouragingly. She kissed him on the cheek and tapped the tablet. "Bruce was trying to reverse engineer the vector--let's look at that."

She swiped her finger across the tablet's screen and new images and equations appeared on the table top. They shared a look before turning their attention to Bruce's data.

*

Blaine floated in and out of consciousness, awareness coming to him in vague notions, along with the panic and sadness. But each time, he thankfully slipped back into sleep before long, reveling in the arms enveloping him and the steady warmth. 

When he finally woke enough to open his eyes, he listlessly looked around the darkened room. Except he wasn't in the isolation room, rather, Steve's bedroom.

“Steve?” he croaked out, but it was not Steve that came into view, but Natasha.

“Hey there, Mozart,” Natasha greeted fondly. “Steve’s just taking a shower,” she explained when Blaine’s breath hitched. She brought a straw to his lips and held it in place as he sipped the water, room temperature but still welcome. Three sips were enough, and Natasha sat back down in the chair beside the bed. “You going to wake up this time?”

“How long?” Blaine asked, blinking slowly.

“Two days.”

Blaine groaned and blinked again, trying to clear his vision and mind.

“Warren’s still got you on the sedative. Anytime you got close to waking up, your heart rate would spike.”

“It’s not happening now?”

“Nope. You’d hear the alarm,” Natasha explained with a wave toward the monitor, “and the nurse would have been here before you said anything. I guess you’re getting back to normal.”

"Why am I here?"

"You mean, not in the infirmary?" Natasha continued before he could answer, "Well, in your compromised state, you were sucking the pain from the entire ward."

"Was that bad?"

"Not for the other patients. But it kind of impeded your recovery."

Blaine closed his eyes and sighed. He let his thoughts go back, and he could now clearly see what had happened after the hospital. He sighed again.

“Hey.”

Blaine opened his eyes.

“You’re going to make it,” Natasha said with a smirk.

*

"We've got rudimentary nanites," Tony prefaced. "We can program them to sever the alien DNA."

"Problem is, it's systemic," Bruce countered. "Not localized to any particular type of cell. That's why he can take on any kind of illness, physical or mental. We can't activate enough nanites to repair every cell in his body before they replicate and further propagate the mutated DNA."

"Then we have to go back to a modified chemotherapy."

"You mean gamma radiation."

"It worked on you."

"As you recall, it didn't destroy any DNA. It mutated it. And no amount of prior testing predicted that particular outcome. How can we control how the radiation mutates Blaine's DNA?"

"We could make another Hulk."

"Or we could make everything much worse."

*

"Dr. Warren won't take me off the sedative?" Blaine asked sleepily, rubbing his cheek against Steve's shoulder where he rested his head. They sat on the bed, propped up by several pillows.

"Not yet," Steve answered gently, running a hand up and down Blaine's arm, careful to avoid the IV in the crook of his elbow. He found that if he did that, Blaine was less likely to scratch up his arms with his own fingernails. Though the urge to cut had mostly disappeared, he still relapsed every now and then. Steve and Bruce had discovered that on the first night they relocated a sedated Blaine upstairs, and he had unconsciously torn at his skin. Blaine held Steve's other hand in his, rubbing at Steve's palm rhythmically.

"I don't want to sleep anymore," Blaine complained weakly.

"Just for another night. Dr. Warren wants to give your body and mind enough rest so you don't--," Steve trailed off.

"So I don't hurt myself," Blaine finished. They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the soft sounds of the television going in the other room. The on-duty nurse and Natasha conversed, though their words were indistinguishable. "That wasn't me."

"But it was a while ago?" Steve asked gently. Blaine sighed and tugged the hand he held around him. Steve dutifully wrapped his arms tighter around Blaine's back as Blaine settled closer and rested his hand on Steve's neck, starting up the steady swipe of his thumb back and forth over Steve's collar bone.

"After the attack," Blaine revealed quietly. He'd long ago told Steve about the Sadie Hawkins dance, but he hadn't felt the need to go into detail about his recovery. He shifted his hand and rubbed the skin beside Steve's adam's apple. "I thought about it, a lot. But I couldn't do it. I think the frequent visits to therapists actually helped."

"Well, Dr. Warren thinks that all your thinking about it may have saved you now."

"Why?"

"You knew not to cut too deep. You said so when Dr. Warren was cleaning you up."

"I don't remember that," Blaine murmured, the sedative tugging at Blaine's consciousness. "Thinking too hard," Blaine mumbled, his thumb slowing its perpetual back and forth.

"Sorry," Steve said with an amused huff. He pressed his lips to Blaine's hair, still damp from finally getting to wash it. His body was still warm from the shower.

"Sleep now?" Blaine asked, already almost there.

"Sleep now," Steve agreed, reaching for the light panel and dimming the lights.

*

"His 'powers' are definitely growing," Natasha stated as soon as she entered Bruce's lab.

Dr. Warren looked up from the microscope and asked, "How?"

"He's pulling from the medical ward. That's nearly 1000 feet. He complained about his knee, and Kelly checked downstairs. He's also lost some ground on controlling the physical empathy. He can't completely block it anymore."

"That can't be good," Bruce commented.

"Not if he wants to get back out into the world," Natasha said grimly.

*

“I’m really getting tired of being stuck here,” Blaine said irritably. He dropped his fork onto his half-eaten dinner and tugged miserably at the IV tube.

“We still don’t know what’s going on,” Steve reasoned.

“Well, until we do, I need to get back to my normal life.”

“Normal?” Steve asked, carefully setting his fork down and tempering his hurt. It didn't work.

“I don’t mean it like that," Blaine said, voice gone soft. Steve stood under the pretense of refilling his glass. "Steve," Blaine assured, "Not like that. I just--." He paused and took a deep breath before saying, "It feels like I’m in some kind of holding pattern, that my life was going one way and now it’s circling not knowing where it's going.”

Steve ran the tap and filled his glass, then leaned back against the counter. He looked at Blaine with sad eyes.

"I'm sorry," Steve said.

Blaine deflated and picked up his fork again, only to stab absently at his food.

"It's not your fault," Blaine said. Steve remained silent at that, so Blaine continued, “I feel like crap. I can't control any of it anymore, no matter how much I keep practicing with Bruce and Natasha," Blaine admitted. "I've been poked and prodded, and drugged. And I know this isn't just me, but I’m frustrated and I can’t get away from it.”

Steve slowly rounded the counter and sat down. He tipped his glass to the side, contemplative, and took a sip.

“We could get away,” Steve said a moment later as he set his drink down.

“What do you mean?” Blaine asked, eyes narrowed in curiosity and suspicion. Steve sat up and leaned over his plate, reaching a hand out. Blaine automatically reached for it, settling his hand in Steve's palm and stroking Steve's wrist.

“Fury left me alone when I first came back. He found me my place in Brooklyn and I got a modest pension, enough to live on.”

“There’s no way he would let us go," Blaine countered. "With your powers still gone and me an alien guinea pig?”

“He might not," Steve agreed. "But we don’t have to ask him.”

“How would we--?” Blaine started.

“Stark," Steve cut in. "We can ask Stark.”

“What about school?”

“You’ve been doing your assignments from Stark Tower for weeks," Steve reasoned.

“And my final composition? The performance?”

“You can do that computer television thing with Professor Karchin while you fine tune it. And we can come back for the recital. No one has to know we’re coming.”

“You mean video conferencing?” Blaine asked, a smile at the corners of his lips.

“Yes,” Steve answered.

Blaine took a deep breath, slumped back in his chair, and asked, “Where would we go?”

“Anywhere," Steve replied confidently. "Somewhere with less people. We can talk to Stark about that.”

“For how long?"

“For as long as you want."

"Not forever, though?” Blaine asked shyly.

"If that's what you want," Steve said earnestly.

"This city is your home," Blaine stated. Steve stood, pulling their entwined hands over the table and Blaine up with him. They stood facing each other.

"You are my home," Steve said solemnly.

"Are you sure?" Blaine asked. Steve nodded. Blaine pulled their hands between them and kissed Steve's knuckles. He then slid his arms around Steve's waist and hugged him tightly, breathing aligning with Steve's. Cognizant of the IV tube, Steve wrapped his arms around Blaine's shoulders and closed his eyes as he rested his jaw against Blaine's temple.

"You're sure," Blaine said quietly, knowing Steve's mind. He pulled back to look Steve in the eye. "Okay. Let's talk to Stark."

Four hours later, Steve and Blaine, carrying duffle bags and Blaine's guitar and school bag, ducked into a helicopter atop Stark Tower.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ignoring the fact that Tony's house in Malibu was destroyed in IM3. Right? That happened in that movie?
> 
> Continuing talk of mental health issues. Please read with care.

Blaine floated back to consciousness, sighing contentedly at the warmth pressed to his forehead. A low chuckle brought him further awake, and he blinked.

"What's so funny?" he asked roughly. He cleared his throat, gripped the armrest, and sat up. He rubbed at his eyes.

"I've just been trying to wake you for a few minutes," Steve said gently, smile tugging at his lips. Hands dropping to his lap, Blaine frowned. "Hey," Steve added, "you've only been off the sedative for a day. And you are still recovering."

Blaine sighed, unhappy expression easing. Then he squinted at Steve--at his baggy jeans, black but faded to gray hoodie, and worn baseball cap.

"What are you wearing?"

"We're about to land. From here, we fly like everyone else."

Blaine looked around at the small, but private jet. He'd had little time to admire it earlier, as the rush to pack and helicopter ride had been enough excitement to render him nearly asleep as Steve helped him up the small ramp and into Stark's personal plane.

"And we have to look like that?" Blaine asked confusedly when his gaze returned to Steve.

Steve smiled and shook his head.

"I'm told we'll look less conspicuous this way."

"We?" Blaine asked.

From the next seat, Steve picked up a stack of clothes and handed it to Blaine.

*

"Yeah, we just arrived. Steve and Happy are checking the perimeter." Blaine slumped back onto the couch, looking out the large bay windows at the darkness. The first strands of sunrise were creeping across the floor. "Can you thank Tony for sending him with us?"

"Of course," Bruce said, voice coming through the intercom. "How are you?"

"Passed a few cars, even at this hour. I think I got someone's motion sickness. But nothing too bad."

"Good. Tony said he owns the entire road so you should be able to relax."

"Of course he does," Blaine said with a roll of his eyes.

"Jarvis online?"

"Yes, Dr. Banner," Jarvis replied. "I have completed a full diagnostic of the house. All systems are running optimally."

"Thank you, Jarvis." Bruce paused before continuing, "We talked to Fury."

Blaine tipped his head up, pressing a hand to his abdomen as nausea tickled his stomach.

"How was he?" Blaine asked.

"He's not happy about it, but he agreed it was the right choice. The Council was starting to get impatient about the lack of 'proper' research."

"What does that mean?"

"They preferred if we were studying how to replicate the alien DNA, not inactivate it. Fury says they were about ready to take you into custody."

"Is that why we flew to London first? Give them a false trail?"

"Exactly."

"I did enjoy seeing Steve incognito," Blaine joked lightly.

"I bet," Bruce commented. "Don't forget to check-in daily. And have Jarvis log anything new or out of the ordinary. Dr. Warren and I, even Tony--we're all still working on it."

"I will," Blaine promised. "And Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Get some rest, kid."

*

The warm California sun and ocean breeze made for quite a change from New York City's early spring. Blaine left his coat hanging in the closet when he stepped out onto Tony's Malibu estate patio. The view was spectacular--the waves far below crashing against the rocks, and water meeting horizon far out in front of him dotted with surfers and ships and gulls.

Blaine had woken minutes ago, tugging on a loose sweater and heading down the stairs to seek out the others. He'd found Happy aproned and singing in the kitchen, preparing a large buffet spread for a late lunch. He spied Steve at the edge of the patio, standing straight but casually with a hand around a mug. A thin wisp of steam rose from the contents. Blaine smiled and padded barefoot over to him. Steve turned his head, then his body, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Did you sleep at all?" Blaine asked, coming close and settling his hands on Steve's hips. He pushed to the balls of his feet to kiss Steve, who ducked down and met him. Blaine smiled again when he pulled away.

"You were already asleep when Happy and I got back," Steve pointed out. "But I did sleep for a bit. There was no reason to wake you."

"I suppose," Blaine agreed. He wrapped his hand around the cup and Steve relinquished it easily. Blaine took a sip before returning it to him. "I checked in with Bruce. Albeit reluctantly, Fury's actually on board with this."

"That makes things easier." Steve sipped his coffee before offering it to Blaine again.

"It does," Blaine said, taking the mug and sliding between Steve's arms. He turned and ensconced himself in their entwined arms. Blaine pressed his back close to Steve's chest, reveling in Steve's warm embrace. He tipped his head onto Steve's shoulder and smiled up at him, letting the high sun warm his face. Steve tightened his arms. The mug rested securely in their enmeshed hands, and Blaine's thumb stroked at Steve's wrist slow and steady.

"I really liked your Superman glasses yesterday," Blaine complimented.

"My what glasses?" Steve asked. Blaine laughed.

"Superman. Comic book legend. Alien who crash landed on Earth as an infant, grew up on a farm, and had super powers. Ran lightning fast and really strong. Had a reporter alias--."

"Clark Kent," Steve cut in. "Wore big glasses as a disguise."

"Hey," Blaine exclaimed, surprised, "you do know him."

"Comics were fairly popular in 1938," Steve explained with a smirk. "I'm just unsure whether you calling my glasses 'Superman glasses' was indicative of the sophistication of my disguise."

"You might be reading too much into it," Blaine teased. He craned his neck to kiss Steve's jaw. "You're my superman, is all," Blaine said softly, lips still brushing Steve's skin. Steve hummed happily though he sobered quickly.

"'Lightning fast' does not really apply, at least not anymore."

"But the 'really strong' still does?" Blaine squeezed Steve's bicep teasingly.

"I can still lift you," Steve challenged, squeezing Blaine in his arms and lifting him a few inches. Blaine laughed, finding Steve's feet and standing on them when Steve set him down. Steve huffed amusedly.

"No x-ray vision either," Blaine added with an exaggerated sigh.

"Hmm, no. One out of three isn't bad though," Steve commented. Blaine leaned his head back against Steve's shoulder again and turned his head, warm breath puffing against Steve's neck. His thumb rubbed at the base of Steve's palm.

"You forgot his morality," Blaine said. "And his big heart."

"Hardly superpowers," Steve countered.

"They are to me."

Steve smiled at Blaine, kissing his forehead and wrapping his arms more securely around Blaine. Blaine sighed happily and closed his eyes.

"You lovebirds ready for some food?" Happy asked, interrupting the quiet. He added with delight, "Or will your love sustain you?"

Blaine chuckled and Steve shook his head, but they pulled apart and retreated to the door, where Happy stood.

"You've been spending too much time with Stark," Steve chastised. Happy laughed and playfully snapped a towel at them before turning and heading to the kitchen.

*

"Fury's trying a different message," Tony said by way of greeting as he entered Bruce's lab.

"What's he saying now?" Bruce asked.

"Essentially, he threatened to blow them up with two 10-gauge nukes if they didn't reply."

Bruce shook his head disapprovingly.

"The translation program working yet?"

"My guys are still working," Tony answered with a vague wave. "We've only got the rudimentary jargon for their ships to begin with. Hardly anything that will help us with small talk."

"So, even if the 'Klingons' responded, we wouldn't know how to talk to them. Or them with us," Bruce summed up.

"Yeah."

*

"We have a delivery," Jarvis announced late on the second day of their stay. Blaine tensed at the news, despite just awakening from a nap. He was still so tired.

"I thought we didn't want anyone else coming?" Steve asked cautiously, running his palm up and down Blaine's arm to ease the rising panic.

"The delivery person was instructed to leave any packages at the outer gate at the end of the road," Jarvis explained.

"Is it something I can pick up?" Happy asked.

"No, it weighs a considerable amount and is quite large for one person."

"Can you send--?" Happy trailed off.

"Yes, sir," Jarvis replied. "I will notify you when it has arrived."

"Thank you, Jarvis," Steve said, even though he was unsure what just happened.

Blaine sighed and closed his eyes, curling back up on the cushions, with his head on a pillow in Steve's lap.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Not long," Steve answered.

"I hate being so tired," Blaine pouted.

"It's getting better," Steve offered. "At least there's no more IV."

"True," Blaine said with a sigh and a lazy smile directed at Steve.

Jarvis came over the intercom, "The delivery is at the front door."

Happy stood from the armchair and headed for the door. Steve and Blaine followed shortly after, arriving at the foyer just in time to see Iron Man carrying an oddly wrapped package--all bubble wrap and cardboard corners.

"Tony?" Blaine asked, perplexed as he hadn't felt Tony's distinct headache assaulting his mind.

Happy stepped aside and rapped the metal suit with his knuckles when it came to a halt just inside the door. He still held the out-shaped delivery off the floor.

"Not Tony. Just one of his many toys," Happy said.

"What is it? Steve asked.

"I think it's a piano," Blaine said slowly. Happy gestured for the suit to proceed, and it carried the package to the common room, setting it down off to the side. They all joined in the unwrapping, and stepped back when they were finished.

"It is a piano," Blaine said in disbelief. "Tony sent a piano." Steve stifled his smile.

"He really does like you," Happy commented.

*

Blaine bolted upright, the sheets pooling at his waist as his lungs heaved and his chest ached. His thigh throbbed and felt disjointed. Blaine found nothing out of place when he ran his hands over his leg, pressing at the muscle and pulling it up to bend the knee. His hands trembled and the ache in his leg increased until tears pooled in his eyes.

"Blaine?" Steve asked sleepily, sitting up slowly. But he quickly gained alertness with one look at Blaine's face. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Blaine said on a gasp as another stab of pain richocheted up his leg. "I just woke up. My chest feels--it feels like something is pushing on it. And my leg hurts, a lot."

"Jarvis, is there anyone here?" Steve asked.

"No unexpected persons are on site, Captain."

"Check the surrounding area. Go as far as you need to until you find someone."

"Yes, sir," Jarvis acknowledged.

"Do you need your pills?" Steve asked, already reaching over to the nightstand.

"No," Blaine answered quickly. "Not yet."

"Local police report a vehicle accident approximately a half mile from our private road," Jarvis said. "An ambulance is there, along with two squad cars and a fire truck."

"Any injuries?" Steve prodded. Blaine hissed as his leg jerked reflexively to a phantom pain. The tears slid down his cheeks. Steve pulled Blaine to him, taking his hand and letting Blaine curl against him.

"There is no report yet," Jarvis supplied. Several moments passed as they waited to learn more. Blaine's breathing remained shallow and rapid.

"Medics have called into the hospital," Jarvis piped back up. "Overturned vehicle. Single occupant. Distal femur fracture, at least two broken ribs, and a possible collapsed lung."

Blaine groaned unhappily. Steve let out a breath and said, "Thank you, Jarvis."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"You're monitoring Blaine's vitals?"

"Of course, Captain."

"Let us know if there's something of concern. And send a report to Bruce in the morning, please."

"Certainly," Jarvis complied.

Steve retrieved the prescription bottles.

"How about now?" he asked sympathetically.

"Pain pills," Blaine requested reluctantly. "But not the sedative."

Steve handed the correct pills to Blaine, holding onto the water bottle until Blaine was ready for it. After swallowing the pills and taking an extra sip of water, Blaine rubbed his chest with a grimace. Steve helped settle Blaine back down on the bed, joining him on his side with his head close to Blaine's so he could takeover soothing Blaine's chest and along Blaine's tense forehead.

"How is it?" Steve asked gently.

"Better," Blaine murmured. Steve nestled closer and tucked his nose against Blaine's neck. Blaine stilled Steve's hand and slipped his hand under so that he could slide his thumb reassuringly along the side of Steve's wrist.

"You're getting better too," Blaine added thoughtfully. "Not so loud anymore."

"Good or bad?" Steve asked somberly.

"Good right now," Blaine admitted. He yawned, the medication acting fast. "But not always please."

"Why?"

"No hiding from me," Blaine said sternly, but it came out more placating when he added a quiet, "okay?"

Steve agreed wholeheartedly, "Okay."

*

"It's good Blaine went away."

Dr. Warren looked up from the papers and tablet scattered before her and asked, "Why do you say that?"

"Because his abilities were growing the more he used them, in strength and scope, while his control was decreasing. At the rate he was going, my projection on when he would lose any ability to control his power was four weeks," Bruce explained grimly. He slid the tablet with his calculations over. Dr. Warren studied the figures and graphs.

"You think he would eventually absorb any physical and mental disorder or injury?"

Bruce nodded and elaborated, "And not just the ones he came into close proximity or contact too. Everything within a one mile radius at least."

"That would kill him," Dr. Warren concluded.

"Yes it would."

"What about now? When he's isolated?"

"It's still happening," Bruce answered, leaning over the table to tap the tablet. A second graph appeared. "The car accident last week was about half a mile down the hillside. He was sleeping, so at his most vulnerable, which explains why he's only reported minor instances since."

"So, even a passive occurrence contributes to the progression?" Dr. Warren asked, though she kept her gaze on the data.

"Damned if you do and damned if you don't," Bruce commented somberly.

"Maybe we should be looking at ways to shield Blaine," Dr. Warren suggested.

"Tony's looking into it. But we'd need Blaine to practice with whatever metals or substances we propose to see if they work."

Dr. Warren slumped back, defeated. "There must be something," she murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"There is," Bruce said confidently. "I'm not giving up."

Dr. Warren looked at Bruce for a long moment before nodding once and straightening. She grabbed the stack of papers and stood, going over to the large screen displaying more information.

"From the top?" she proposed with a look over her shoulder. Bruce smiled bracingly and joined her at the screen.

*

Blaine, Steve, and Happy fell into an easy routine of shared cooking duties and meals, work outs, meditation sessions, studying, and comfortable evenings filled with music, movies, and laughter.

As Blaine analyzed musical pieces, studied music theory, learned the intricacies of creating symphonic works, and his final composition, Happy took to tinkering on the cars in the garage. After Blaine taught Steve several of the Italian words used to describe how to play music, Steve began studying the language. By the second week, Steve was studiously practicing all the romance languages.

Happy ventured down to the Pacific Coast Highway for necessities, though Tony had already had the pantries and refrigerators filled with enough food to last them a month. Still, neither Blaine nor Steve begrudged Happy his trips back to civilization. Especially when he brought back ahi tuna burgers and clam chowder from Malibu Seafood, or a new board game that Steve reluctantly played and Blaine most likely won.

Afternoons were spent working out in the small gym Tony had downstairs or sparring, Blaine and Steve teaching Happy the intricacies of boxing while Happy instructed the other two in some of the martial arts. Happy was hopeless at meditation, which Blaine insisted on practicing in order to practice control over his abilities. Success was difficult to measure as he only had two other people for company, but he knew his waning control would not be improved by ignorance.

Almost daily check-ins with Bruce yielded nothing positive, but the scientist and Dr. Warren persisted. And despite the lack of useful information, the still constant headaches dimmed to barely noticeable, and Blaine's usual optimism and good spirit returned. He managed the day's activities without a nap by the fourth day, and other than the car accident, there hadn't been another instance. Occasionally, something twinged and Blaine got the feeling he was getting something from someone passing by on the road below, but it was mild and fleeting.

Steve reveled in the time spent together, his worries growing less and less, the more time they spent away from possible missions and alien attacks.

Steve bustled about the kitchen preparing dinner when Blaine stilled his fingers atop the piano keys and looked over at Happy, lounging in the armchair as the sun hung low in the sky. Blaine shuffled his papers together on the stand.

"Thank you for being here," Blaine said.

Happy tipped his head toward him and said cheerfully, "It's like a vacation. Why wouldn't I be here?"

Blaine shrugged and smiled, said, "Still. Thank you."

Happy smiled back before tipping his head to the setting sun.

*

"Captain, wake up."

Steve startled awake, bolting upright a moment later when he realized Blaine was not in bed with him. He blinked and looked around the dark room.

"Blaine?"

"Captain, Blaine is out on the patio," Jarvis answered instead. "He appears to be in great distress."

Steve pushed the blanket and sheets aside and hastened out of the room and down the stairs.

"How long?"

"Three minutes. I thought it best to rouse you when he did not respond to my inquiries."

"Thank you, Jarvis," Steve said with a shiver as he slid the panel door open and a chill wind greeted him. He stepped out and saw Blaine, silhouette sitting hunched on the patio wall.

"Blaine," Steve called out as he approached. Blaine didn't acknowledge him, but as Steve neared, he could hear the sobs and see the tears glinting in the moonlight. He saw Blaine's body shaking, from emotion and cold, because surely, his sleep t-shirt and shorts were a contributing factor.

Steve didn't hesitate to smooth his hand over Blaine's cool arm when he was close enough, didn't hesitate to wrap his other hand around his waist to keep hold of him. Blaine shivered.

"Blaine?"

Blaine cried harder, tears dripping onto his bare knees as his legs dangled over the sheer cliff. His hands trembled when he swiped at the wetness, the action seeming only to elicit further tears.

"Blaine," Steve tried again, desperation creeping in. Blaine's sobs stuttered through him, and he gasped in breaths. With a hand still on Blaine's arm, Steve turned and hoisted himself onto the wall. Sitting opposite Blaine, with his legs inside the wall, Steve rubbed his hand over Blaine's arm and brushed away the tears slipping fast from Blaine's wide, wet, and scared eyes.

Steve took a slow deep breath to calm his mind and leaned in close, his arms propped on the other side of Blaine's legs.

"Blaine, love," Steve said gently. "Come back to me."

Blaine tipped his head, eyes finding Steve's, but the tears clouded his vision. The tears welled again, and spilled over as he gulped a breath.

His own tears stung Steve's eyes, but he took another shaky breath and schooled his expression.

"I'm here, love," Steve whispered, pressing his lips to Blaine's temple. Blaine's breathing hitched and Steve pressed another kiss to the corner of his eye, to his eyelid, and his cheek. "I'm here," Steve repeated.

The tears kept coming, but the wracking sobs lessened as Steve ghosted his lips over Blaine's trembling jaw, gently repeating his words until he felt Blaine's grip on his upper arm.

Steve pulled away and Blaine's eyes shot back open, panicked and already brimming again.

"I'm here. You're okay."

Blaine shook his head, another sob trembling through him as his grip tightened on Steve's arm desperately.

Not knowing what else to do, Steve wrapped his arms around Blaine, whose fingers dug into Steve's t-shirt and sobs grew. He shook with the emotion, and Steve could only hold on in the hopes that this would pass.

They stayed like that for some time, until the sunlight crept over the corners of the house, and still Blaine sobbed and shook.

"Captain, I have an incoming call from Dr. Banner," Jarvis spoke, in a gentler than usual tone.

"Please send him a report Jarvis," Steve said softly. "I'll call him back."

"Yes, sir."

Blaine roused at the exchange, cries suddenly quiet and tears only trickling. He looked up at Steve with such sadness, Steve could only think to tighten his embrace. Blaine let him, resting his head on Steve's shoulder as he sniffled wetly and continued to shiver.

"She's dead," Blaine said roughly and he had to squeeze his eyes tight against the new wave of tears. His eyes felt swollen, and the skin on his cheeks stung from the saltwater.

"Who?" Steve asked quietly.

Blaine shook his head against Steve's neck.

"I don't know," Blaine said plaintively. "Whoever I was feeling."

They sat in silence for some time, until Happy gave a somber wave from the windows. Jarvis surely had briefed Happy.

"How about we go inside?" Steve asked gently. Blaine didn't pull away, but he did nod against Steve's chest. Slowly, Steve maneuvered them so that he could hop off the wall and mostly lift Blaine from his perch. Once they were both standing, Blaine leaned heavily against him, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist and taking slow, deep breaths. Tears still trailed down his reddened cheeks. Steve kissed his temple again and smoothed his curls until Blaine pulled away, nodding at Steve's silent question.

When Blaine was back in bed, still trembling, he curled on his side under the covers. He blearily watched Steve retrieve a glass of water from the bathroom and sit on the bed next to him.

"I can't stop crying," Blaine despaired as his tears wet the pillow. Steve slid a box of tissues closer and Blaine hiccupped wetly. "Why did I get her?"

Steve sighed. "I don't know."

The tears came swifter, and Blaine's breathing shallowed.

"Can you sleep?"

Blaine shook his head, pressing his palms against his eyes. Steve opened the pill bottle and tapped out a sedative. When Blaine dropped his hands, Steve offered it and the water to Blaine. With a sigh, Blaine took both. He settled himself again, and closed his eyes with another sigh. Steve took his hand and Blaine stroked his wrist.

A moment later, Blaine said tiredly, "I don't think I've hated this more than I do now."

"It'll be better after some rest," Steve assured. Blaine blinked sleepily.

"Promise?" Blaine murmured, eyes closing again. The steady swipe of his thumb over Steve's skin slowed to a halt.

"I wish I could," Steve breathed out. He sat watching Blaine sleep for some time after that.

*

"Steve, how is he?" Bruce questioned urgently.

"He's sleeping now," Steve answered, scrubbing his hand over his face. Happy silently handed him a mug. Steve nodded his thanks.

"It's getting worse," Bruce said. "I had Jarvis look up any police or medical reports. A woman committed suicide early this morning in Malibu--nearly four miles away."

"You said it wouldn't go further than a mile," Steve remarked.

"Yes, but that was as far as it would need to go to kill him according to my New York City projection. Perhaps because he has less exposure, his abilities are searching further out."

Steve looked grimly at Happy, who could not muster a smile.

"Did Jarvis tip you off earlier?" Steve asked, setting his cup down.

"What?"

"You called earlier."

"Right, no, that was something else," Bruce said. He shuffled tablets and an image appeared in front of Steve and Happy, floating above the kitchen table. "SHIELD satellites have detected an alien ship in deep space. Look familiar?"

Steve stared at the flickering image, the ship looking very much like the ones he and Bruce had been studying all these weeks since they drove the aliens off.

"How far?"

"Still too far out for us to reach. But it looks like they're headed our way. And they haven't figured out we can see through their cloaking technology."

"I'm on my way," Steve said determinedly.

"You should stay with Blaine. We can handle this."

"Doctor, you can't expect me to sit here and do nothing."

"I suppose not," Bruce said wryly.

"You got a plan?" Steve persisted.

"Tony's working on something," Bruce said vaguely. Steve glanced at Happy, who shrugged.

"I'm definitely coming."

*

Blaine woke slowly, his eyes feeling battered and bruised, and his muscles aching. He blinked, only to find dimness around him. He struggled to sit up, leaning heavily against the pillows, as he took several steadying breaths. The emotions from the morning still lapped at his mind, but they were significantly less. The memories, however, were fully intact, and Blaine had to close his eyes against the overwhelming sadness that had nothing to do with the unknown woman's emotional state. He had felt her dying--her tumultuous emotions that slowly waned as the numbness grew. And the too late regret that he wasn't sure was hers or his.

Blaine took another shaky breath and opened his eyes.

"Jarvis, what time is it?"

"Nineteen hundred hours. Are you hungry? I have been instructed to inform Happy of anything you may need."

"Happy?" Blaine asked slowly, mind still sluggish in the wake of such an emotional onslaught. "Where's Steve?"

"Captain Rogers is no longer in the house."

"What do you mean?" Blaine asked, panic setting in.

"Captain Rogers has returned to New York City."

"But why?" Blaine shoved the blankets away from his legs and swung them over the edge of the bed. "Jarvis, why?"

"Perhaps Happy should explain," Jarvis said diplomatically.

"You should explain," Blaine insisted.

"He, along with Agent Romanoff, Dr. Banner, and Mr. Stark, have gone after an alien ship."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Action! And apparently, I can't help myself from putting Blaine in "costumes." Got to lighten things up a little.

"Has there been any more news?" Steve asked as soon as he entered the operations center.

"Hello, Tony. I've missed you," Tony snarked back. Steve gave him a blank look before turning to Natasha, who smirked before bringing up the satellite images.

"The ship is in low orbit," Natasha said. "Same configuration as last time."

"How do we get up there?"

"Fury's sent a shuttle retrofitted for high altitude and equipped with two extra fuel tanks," Bruce answered.

"High altitude is quite a bit different than no altitude," Tony muttered.

"It's untested for space travel," Bruce explained before Steve could ask.

"But it can get us there?"

"Maybe," Bruce said realistically. "And there's no guarantee the shuttle could withstand re-entry."

"We'll fly the ship back in if we have too," Natasha noted.

"It's been a long time since I piloted anything," Steve said dubiously.

"Clint's the expert, but he can't get here in time," Natasha said. "I'm sure Bruce and I can figure it out."

"That sounds promising," Tony said wryly.

"We have to try," Steve stated.

"Well, of course we do," Tony agreed simply.

*

"Happy!" Blaine called out as he flung the bedroom door open. He hastened down the stairs, stumbling and grabbing onto the rail. "Happy!"

"What?" Happy asked as he swung around the corner from the kitchen, alarmed. Blaine made his way to the bottom of the stairs, slower, his body still clumsy from the lingering sedative.

"I need to get back to New York," Blaine said determinedly.

"You can't go back to that many people--," Happy argued.

"Steve's there," Blaine interrupted, "Bruce and Nat too. Even Tony."

"Blaine--," Happy started only to be stopped short again.

"How can I sit around when they're going after the aliens who did this to me?"

"They're going to bring the aliens back. And when--,"

"Please," Blaine cut in desperately. "Jarvis won't help me. I'll drive myself to the airport if I have too."

"No," Happy said after a beat. Blaine opened his mouth, but Happy held up a hand. "I've got a better idea. But first, you should eat something." Happy turned and headed back to the kitchen. With a huff, Blaine followed.

*

"You remember the layout?" Bruce asked. Steve nodded as he looked intently out the window of the shuttle, at the dark sky and the foreboding gray ship growing larger. “Natasha and I will cut the sensors and lock down as many areas as possible.” Bruce handed Steve a palm-sized tablet. “You and Tony have to get to the medical bay, find out whatever you can.”

“And take whoever we can,” Tony added as he checked his suit's systems.

“Only if it’s absolutely necessary,” Bruce warned.

"Heads up," Natasha said. Everyone watched the alien ship's bulkhead fill the window as the shuttle slowed to a hover.

"How are we getting up there?" Steve asked.

"Fury outfitted this shuttle with a pressurized access tube," Natasha said, pressing a few buttons to set the autopilot. "You sure your gizmo's going to work?" Natasha asked, looking pointedly at Tony.

"Only one way to find out," Tony said.

Bruce moved to the back of the shuttle and pulled a lever by the ceiling hatch. With a nod to Natasha, she pressed a series of buttons. Two thuds resounded on the roof and then a loud hissing.

"Ready," Natasha called out. Bruce pressed a button on the bay door panel and the hatch slid open. Tony lifted his arm, emitting a thick red beam from beneath his wrist. Smoke and the acrid smell of melting metal filled the space above him as he slowly cut through the alien bulkhead.

When he finished, Tony disengaged the beam and pushed up on the bulkhead. It gave way, and he lifted it to the side.

"Look at that. It worked," Tony commented glibly. Stepping back, he smirked and gestured for Natasha to go first. She rolled her eyes before gripping the suit's shoulder, hiking herself up on the hip panel, and boosting herself through the hole. A quick glance around revealed they were alone, and she smirked down at Tony, still straightening himself and shooting her a glare. He stepped aside as Natasha offered a hand to Bruce.

*

"Pepper says they're just fact-finding," Happy said, taking off the headset and sitting back next to Blaine.

Blaine opened his eyes, headache throbbing even though the flight crew consisted of only two people.

"There's never a 'just' about anything they do," Blaine said loudly over the helicopter engine.

"True," Happy conceded.

"Thanks for arranging all this," Blaine said.

"Perks of working for Stark," Happy remarked.

"Well, I'm not sure I could handle a public flight," Blaine admitted.

"We're almost there. You going to be okay?"

"I have to be."

Happy nodded and they fell into silence as the helicopter maneuvered over New York City. All the while, Blaine's headache grew.

*

"Sensors are scrambled," Bruce announced, keeping his attention on the screen in front of him. Natasha paced nearby, gun held ready. "But I can't initiate a full lockdown. Looks like I've got everything except the engineering and navigation areas."

"It will do," Steve said. "Let's go," he ordered, gripping his shield. Bruce opened the door with a touch to the screen and Tony exited first. With a nod to Bruce and Natasha, Steve followed.

"Fingers crossed we don't run into anyone," Tony commented as they made their way down the corridor. Steve pointed to the right when they came to a juncture, slowing and peering around the corner.

"Not looking for a fight for once?" Steve snarked back lightly when the path remained clear and they resumed their journey.

"I'm never looking for a fight. They just find me," Tony said simply.

Alarms sounded suddenly and bangs echoed along the walls before Steve could reply.

"What did I just say?" Tony asked rhetorically, looking around and raising his arm.

"The medical bay isn't far," Steve supplied as he ducked and moved along the wall. Tony followed, keeping an eye on the passageway behind them. They moved to the end of the hall and turned another corner.

"Here," Steve said, stopping in front of the medical bay door. He typed the access code into the small panel by the door--sure to repeat it in reverse as Bruce had instructed on the shuttle. He looked at Tony, who aimed both armored hands at the door and nodded. Steve pressed the last symbol and the door slid open.

Tony stepped in, firing at the first alien who raised his weapon. Steve followed with shield held high, stumbling back as a blast ricocheted off the metal. Tony fired at the first alien again, then a third time before the alien fell to the floor. With a quick glance around the large room, Steve hastened along the wall toward what looked like a computer. He deflected two more shots, shoulder slamming into the wall at the impacts as he kept going.

A second alien slumped, weapon and armor clattering loudly, as three other aliens advanced on Tony. A shot seared his left knee plating, causing the servos to whine in protest and grow sluggish. Tony muttered and aimed for the center alien's head, knocking it back. He held the other two aliens at bay with short blasts to their armor, but they were resilient. Two more joined them and Tony stepped back toward Steve.

"Heads up," Tony called out, seeing another alien advancing on Steve. Steve set the palm tablet on the table before pulling his gun from a holster strapped to his thigh and turning. He shot the alien just as he was arm's length away, hitting him in the neck between chest armor and helmet. The looming alien dropped to his knees, staff weapon going off as Steve shot him again.

Steve's knees buckled as pain seared across side, dropping his shield but keeping his gun aimed at the alien. But in the seconds it took Steve to wince in reaction to the wound, the alien had fallen to the floor. Steve slammed his gun onto the table and forced himself upright, hand going reflexively to his injury. He winced again, but retrieved the tablet and plugged it into the computer. The tablet came to life, and alien symbols filled the small screen.

"You okay?" Tony asked, limping slightly as he ducked weapon's fire and backed up next to Steve. He had killed another alien, but more were still firing at them from behind tables and equipment, and advancing on them.

"It's nothing," Steve said as he crouched to pick up the abandoned staff weapon and his shield. "How many?"

"Four down," Tony replied. "Six still holding out."

"They expected us," Steve said breathlessly, sending a blast toward a table hiding two aliens. The table trembled at the impact, but the aliens ducked out of the way. The alarms continued to blare.

"They expected something." Tony flung a shot toward another alien creeping from one vantage point to another. The beam hit his leg and the alien stumbled, but still made it to his next hiding place. Tony swore and asked, "How much longer?"

Steve ducked another blast and glanced back at the tablet, symbols still scrolling down the screen.

"Not yet," Steve answered. He sent another blast at the aliens, though his aim was off. He fumbled his shield as the weapon's pushback jolted him.

A clamor of metal and heavy footfalls sounded from afar, the muffled thuds growing louder and clearer until several aliens appeared through the door. Tony sidestepped in front of Steve, firing a wide spread across the aliens and felling two before they could get too many shots off. Steve resumed shooting at the already present aliens as more came through the door. Blasts crisscrossed the space between them.

Tony missed ducking in time, and a blast slammed into his shoulder. The dented metal dug into his flesh and the suit's arm would not raise all the way.

"Why didn't we want comms again?" Tony asked, firing rapidly at the oncoming crowd with his other arm.

"In case the aliens could pick it up," Steve huffed out, bracing himself behind his shield as another blast made contact. He fired the alien weapon and another alien dropped to the floor.

"I think that's the least of our concerns now," Tony stated, killing the alien that had almost reached them.

A double blast to Steve's shield had him stumbling, his grip slipping as the circle of metal dropped to the floor. Another shot slammed Steve back against the table, knocking the tablet off as Steve's head hit the corner of the table, and pain shot down his arm and across his chest. The staff weapon banged to the floor.

"Cap," Tony called, attention now divided between the oncoming aliens and the hidden ones. He kept shooting.

Steve blinked, the impact to his head blurring his vision with tears. He glanced down at his chest, uniform singed, and flesh burnt and oozing blood. With a pained and determined groan, Steve reached for his shield and got to his feet.

"Cap?" Tony asked, still focused on keeping the aliens at bay. A couple more bodies lay nearby.

Steve barely held his shield aloft, the exertion shortening his breaths as his entire body screamed with pain.

"Get the tablet," Steve instructed through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath and heaved the shield up, protecting both of them as Tony spun and crouched, swiping the tablet up and tucking it securely into a compartment in the suit's side. 

When Tony returned to firing, Steve grabbed the pistol from the table and aimed. Two aliens cried out and crumpled to the floor in quick succession.

"We need to get out," Steve rasped out, fighting the haziness creeping into his mind.

"Easier said than done," Tony said as more aliens filled the room.

"How many?" Steve asked dazedly, emptying the rest of his clip into an oncoming alien. He fell against Steve, who heaved him to the side with his shield.

"Nine," Tony said. He sent another spray of blasts at the aliens. "Eight," he corrected.

"Get the tablet back to Bruce," Steve instructed, fumbling to put another clip into his gun as he wavered. "I'll follow."

"You can barely stand," Tony pointed out.

"Go," Steve ordered.

"Hero," Tony muttered, though he raised both his arms as best he could and sent shots around the room. Several aliens stumbled back or ducked, but only one fell. Tony moved toward the exit, glancing back as he shot the aliens in front of them to ensure Steve was following.

They made it to the door, Steve shooting two aliens at close range as they exited. When Tony came to a halt, shifting his blasts down the hall, Steve spared a glance. Several more aliens were approaching and firing, and Tony backed up. Breathing shallow and legs uncooperative, Steve stumbled at the change in direction. Tony grabbed his arm to keep him upright, but Steve had dropped the arm holding his shield. A blast hit him square in the abdomen, and Steve fell with a cry.

The moment's distraction was enough--several blasts hit Tony and he stumbled, letting go of Steve. The suit's crashing vitals flashed across Tony's field of view, and an urgent beeping signaled a complete loss of power.

Seeing the aliens rapidly approaching from the hall and the medical bay, Tony stood and swung his fist into the first alien that reached him. He sidestepped another and shoved a third back into the group. A blast to his chest knocked the breath out of him, but he managed to slam another alien into the bulkhead and grab his weapon. But before he could fire, twin blasts to his back knocked him to the ground and three aliens grabbed onto him. He struggled to free himself, but the head of a staff weapon aimed directly at his face made him pause.

"I'm going to have words with Bruce about the definition of lockdown," Tony muttered.

The alien shouted something at him.

"Why yes, I'd love a drink. Got any whiskey?" Tony quipped. "No? Shame."

Another shout had the aliens restraining him pulling him upright. Once standing, Tony saw at least ten alien weapons trained on him. He glanced to his side, where Steve lay unconscious.

Two aliens appeared from the medical bay and roughly picked Steve up, hauling him back into the medical bay.

"Ah, where might they be going?" Tony asked as he tried to shake off his captors.

The alien shouting orders shoved his weapon against Tony's abdomen and fired. Though the suit kept him from getting fatally injured, the close impact still sent Tony stumbling back and smoke wisping up from the charred metal.

"I just had this painted," Tony griped. The aliens ignored him and dragged him down the hall, followed by the large guard.

Several corridors down, and nowhere near the cargo hold they entered from as far as Tony could recall, the aliens abruptly came to a halt. The leader keyed in a code on the nearby panel, and the door slid open. Another code and an invisible force field disengaged, its humming going silent.

The aliens shoved Tony in roughly, and the force field re-engaged just as Tony stopped himself from crushing Natasha against the wall of the small cell. Tony turned and the leader spoke harshly again before pressing his palm to the keypad. The door slid closed and locked.

"Where's Steve?" Natasha asked. Blood trickled slowly from a wound on her forehead, and she cradled her arm.

"I'm fine, thanks," Tony retorted, though he could feel his muscles protesting.

"Stark," Natasha chastised.

"Took him back to the medical bay," Tony answered somberly. "Banner?"

"Don't know." Natasha slumped against the wall with a wince and closed her eyes. "They found us in the cargo bay before Bruce could override their override."

"Well, this is going splendidly," Tony snarked. He turned around and scanned the room.

"I've already searched for any kind of access panel or hatch. You won't find anything."

*

"Blaine!" Pepper called out as she jogged up to the helicopter. She pulled him into a hug, and squeezed Happy's arm. "You shouldn't be here," she said into his ear, though she stepped away and headed back into the building. Happy followed after a brief conversation with the pilot, and the helicopter took off.

"I had to," Blaine said, glad for her hand on his arm as a wave of pain crested in his head. He fought for control and the pain abated, but only minutely. It did nothing for the aches beginning to flit throughout his body.

"Dr. Warren cleared the infirmary--sent them to SHIELD for the night," Pepper said as she led Blaine over to the couch and guided him to sit. Happy stood off to the side. "And I sent any unnecessary personnel home. Don't know how much it will help, but it's something."

"Thanks," Blaine said, though he was sure he could feel people beyond the building. The fact it was still at least two hours before sunrise was a blessing. "Have you heard anything?"

"Nothing. They were due to check in about 30 minutes ago."

"How long before we send back-up?" Blaine asked as a particularly intense wave of cacophonous sounds pounded in his brain. He closed his eyes.

Pepper sat down next to Blaine. Blaine opened his eyes when she remained silent.

"There is no back-up plan." Blaine stated. Pepper sighed.

"There's no way we could get up there. Fury gave them the only shuttle capable of making a high altitude flight, and even that was still untested. Who knows how it will perform in space."

"We have to do something," Blaine reasoned.

"We have to wait," Pepper insisted, though resignedly.

"There has to be a way," Blaine argued.

"I may have something," Happy spoke up. When Pepper and Blaine looked up at him, he continued, "Jarvis?"

"It will be here momentarily," Jarvis answered.

"What--," Pepper started to ask, but stopped when the door to the helipad opened and an iron man suit walked in.

"You brought Fido?" Blaine asked with a small smile.

"Fido?" Pepper asked as the suit came to a stop next to Happy.

"Tony left him at the house for us. He's been picking up deliveries for us," Blaine replied. "Thus--."

"Fido," Happy finished.

"He's a Mark 11," Pepper said indignantly, standing and moving in front of the suit. "And you were supposed to stay at the house," she added pointedly. The suit bowed its head, as if chastised.

"Actually, Happy figured out that Tony ordered it to stay with me," Blaine said. "Therefore, it goes where I go."

"Technically, Mr. Stark ordered the Mark 11 to protect Mr. Anderson at the house," Jarvis cut in.

Happy waved his hand dismissively and said, "Well, as long as he's with Blaine, I think it's fine."

"In this instance, I concur," Jarvis said, though he sounded unhappy about it. Pepper gave Happy a disapproving look.

"How does this help us?" Blaine redirected.

"Tony's been working on a high altitude suit," Pepper answered, surprising the other two. "He's fine-tuning the Mark 21 now, but the Mark 11 was his first prototype."

"We can send it up to check on things," Happy said.

"No," Blaine countered. "We are not sending it anywhere on its own."

"You have another idea?" Pepper questioned.

"Yes. I'm going."


	7. Chapter 7

"So," Blaine began, walking around Fido, "how do I get inside?"

Blaine stepped back startled, when the suit's front panels began shifting and sliding apart, revealing the inside of the mechanical suit.

"Okay," Blaine said slowly. "So, I just--," Blaine said with a wave of his hand.

"Back it on up," Happy supplied with a grin.

"This really isn't a good idea," Pepper said.

"What else is there?"

"We'll send," Pepper paused before reluctantly continuing, "Fido to assess the situation and report back."

"But if they're in trouble, how are we supposed to help them?" Blaine persisted.

"I can go," Pepper suggested.

"And if you're stuck up there too? I have no idea what to do down here," Blaine said. "Besides, I've been up there before."

"It's a different ship."

"Pepper," Blaine prefaced gently. "I've been working with Steve and Bruce--studying everything we could figure out about the last time the aliens came."

Pepper sighed and said, softly, worried, "The last time you were up there, it didn't go so well."

"I know," Blaine agreed soberly. "But I have to try, don't I?"

Pepper and Blaine looked at each other for a long moment, before Pepper took a deep breath and said, "Jarvis, upload everything we have on the aliens to Fido."

"Yes, Ms. Potts."

Blaine breathed out a "thank you," before turning back to the waiting suit. With Happy's help, Blaine stepped into the suit. He had to stand on the balls of his feet to fit, and his head barely cleared the neck piece.

"I don't think I've ever felt this annoyed by my height," Blaine muttered. "How is this supposed to work?" Blaine asked as he gripped the inside of the arms to keep upright.

"Just wait for it," Pepper advised.

Before Blaine could ask what she meant, the suit began shifting again, panels sliding together to completely encase him. The suit jostled his limbs into place and he found solid footing when the suit's feet seemed to shorten. The helmet settled and the screen lit up, numbers scrolling along the bottom.

When it was done, Blaine asked, "What just happened?"

"The suit's designed to fit most people--it's essentially got a shock absorption system that can adjust to different sizes," Pepper answered.

"So, the suit didn't get shorter?"

"No," Pepper said amusedly. Happy chuckled. "You're just well padded in there."

"How do I--?" Blaine trailed off as he turned his head and the helmet went with the motion. He took a step, and though it felt clumsy, the suit's leg mimicked his motion fluidly. Blaine took a few more steps and looked around.

"Just like that," Pepper said quietly, biting her lip.

"The upload is complete," Jarvis piped up. Blaine heard him through the helmet comm.

"Jarvis, will you be with me?" Blaine asked, coming back around to Pepper and Happy.

"I will accompany you as far as I can," Jarvis replied. "However, once you reach low orbit, communication may not be possible without satellite assistance."

"Is that why you can't talk to the others?"

"Not precisely. I am in communication with the shuttle, which has been on autopilot since the crew disembarked. I lost communication with Mr. Stark's suit 34 minutes later. I was not able to ascertain the cause."

"We went radio silent," Pepper added, "so no information was transmitted once they boarded the ship. We have no idea how far they got."

"Well, I better get up there and find out," Blaine stated with false confidence.

"You sure about this?" Pepper asked.

"As sure as I can be," Blaine answered grimly.

"I have input the coordinates," Jarvis intoned. "The suit will take you to the shuttle, and I will brief you on the suit's capabilities on the way."

Blaine swallowed and nodded, the suit following his action. Though Pepper and Happy could not see, he smiled encouragingly, and said, "I'll be fine."

"You better be," Pepper said sternly. "Now go, before I realize what I'm letting you do."

Blaine nodded again and turned. As soon as he stepped out onto the balcony, the suit took off.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this," Happy commented as they watched the suit fly away.

"Me either," Pepper said. She moved over to the holographic table and tapped the screen awake. "Jarvis, I want continual updates. And I want to see what Blaine sees."

"Yes, ma'am," Jarvis replied as the early morning sky filled the screen.

*

"Steve," Bruce called out as soon as he saw the man lying prone on the medical table. Other aliens stood around the room, weapons all held ready and aimed at either Steve or Bruce. He struggled against his two captors, crying out when the alien behind them hit him on the back of his head with the end of a staff weapon.

Bruce's vision blurred at the impact and he stumbled, only to be dragged upright by the aliens and pulled along. Steve was hazy in front of him as they neared, but the multiple injuries stood out in stark contrast to Steve's charred uniform and pale skin. His chest rose slowly and shallowly. Bruce breathed out in relief.

The relief was short-lived as the aliens roughly shoved Bruce onto a table and held him down as the third set restraints in place over his limbs and torso. It wasn't the same ship as before, nor the same crew, but they seemed to know what had been done to him and Steve--an alien wheeled over a tray of syringes and bottles filled with the same color fluids that had been injected into both of them. Another alien brought over carts of familiar looking monitors and pumps. They didn't bother with any sedatives before inserting the needles into his arms and leg. Bruce winced at the pain but kept quiet, observing the medical staff and the aliens standing guard. He shivered as the cool fluid seeped into his left arm, and the alien pulled a third blood-filled vial from the needle in his right arm. The alien took two more vials before hooking tubes to the needles and letting the foreign fluids drip into Bruce's body while another slowly leeched more blood from him. 

"No, wait," Bruce protested when they did the same to Steve. The aliens ignored him, but he persisted. "He's injured. You can't--. He's already lost too much blood." Bruce strained against the hard strap across his chest. An alien stabbed his weapon into Bruce's side, eliciting a pained grunt, and before he could protest further, the weapon was pressed against his abdomen.

"Okay, okay," Bruce relented, slumping back against the table. He looked on as Steve's blood slid through the tube to the machine set at the end of the table. The aliens exchanged harsh sounding words as the medical staff finished up and guards posted themselves around the two.

Bruce let out a slow breath and hoped Tony and Natasha were in better shape than they were.

*

"Sir, your vitals are elevated. Is everything alright?"

"Jarvis, it's Blaine."

"You failed to answer my question, Blaine," Jarvis said, emphasizing the name.

"Any other time, I'd be delighted by this experience," Blaine said.

"I imagine the circumstances are less than desirable," Jarvis offered.

"Yeah," Blaine agreed with a huff. "So, I'm fine, relatively speaking."

"How is your headache?"

"It's actually better," Blaine answered, surprised to realize the atonal chaos from the city had dulled.

"We are approximately 50 miles above the Earth's surface."

"Well, that does it explain it." Blaine joked lamely, "Maybe I can live up here?"

"We do have shuttles capable of flight this high, but I am uncertain whether they would be able to maintain this altitude for the duration of your life. Fuel and oxygen supplies would need to be replenished continually."

"And food," Blaine added. "What about showering and going to the bathroom?"

"Waste can be recycled as on the space stations, and shipped out as supplies are brought in. Hygiene would likely be unnecessary as the atmosphere within the shuttle would be filtered and free of allergens and bacteria."

"No showering, huh?" Blaine mused as his thoughts went to Steve. "I think that might be a deal breaker."

"You heart rate has increased again, Blaine. Are you certain you are feeling well?"

"Oh, yeah," Blaine breathed out with a smirk as he shook his head to clear his thoughts. "You were telling me about the suit's weapons?" Blaine redirected.

"Yes. Both arms are equipped with laser pulse beams, which function the same as Mr. Stark's current suit. There are two..."

*

"Ow!"

"Baby," Natasha muttered as she shoved hard at the metal panel above her again. It did not budge.

"I could drop you," Tony griped.

"I could kill you," Natasha retorted. She gave up on the panel, gracefully slipping off Tony's suited shoulders and landing into a crouch with a soft thud. She paused before standing up, still holding her injured arm close to her chest.

Tony turned his helmet, unlocking it, and took it off.

"Was it really necessary to step on my head?"

"Do you have a better use for that iron bucket right now?"

Tony opened his mouth, only to shut it a moment later. He tossed the helmet into the corner. Natasha smirked.

"What happened anyway?" Natasha asked, walking around the small room again and looking for anything they could access.

"Far as I can tell, multiple blasts from the alien weaponry seared the circuitry. There should still be power left, but it's not getting to the rest of the suit," Tony replied.

"Any way to fix it?"

"All systems are down. I can't even get out of the damn thing right now, much less find the materials I need to replace the damaged parts."

"There is definitely nothing here we can use," Natasha said slowly, dropping her hand from the wall and turning back to Stark. She closed her eyes against the dizziness at the more abrupt motion.

"How's the head?" Stark asked kindly.

Natasha opened her eyes to find Stark's hand on her arm. She let him help her to the wall, where she leaned heavily against it. She tentatively touched the wound at her hairline, feeling the dried blood.

"Well, it's not bleeding anymore," Natasha answered wryly.

*

"Jarvis, why are the numbers flashing?" Blaine asked as he took in the multiple readings on the helmet screen.

"Temperature and atmospheric conditions have reached unacceptable levels for the suit," Jarvis replied matter-of-factly.

"Will it be okay?"

"Undetermined. However, I estimate you will reach the shuttle before the suit is breached."

"So, I won't freeze to death?" Blaine half-joked, though he could feel the coolness seeping through the metal.

"Unlikely," Jarvis said. "But I cannot guarantee that."

"Okay," Blaine said slowly. "Well, I see the shuttle so I'm going to stay positive."

"I believe that is wise," Jarvis agreed.

"Jarvis," Pepper's voice filtered through the helmet comm. "Keep communications open for as long as you can."

"Yes, Ms. Potts."

As Blaine neared the shuttle, the bay door lowered. However, his vision wavered when his headache returned full force. He gasped, the sounds screeching and grating in his mind.

"Blaine?" Pepper asked. "What's wrong?"

"Heart rate is 124, blood pressure is erratic, and adrenaline levels have spiked," Jarvis informed.

Blaine closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing.

"I'm okay," he said breathlessly.

"Headache?" Pepper questioned.

"Yeah," Blaine replied on a sigh. "I'm not sure staying away was the best idea."

"According to Dr. Banner's projections, had you stayed in New York City, you would have likely been placed in medical induced coma or risk death from overexposure to the city's population of over eight million," Jarvis said.

"Thank you, Jarvis," Pepper said quickly. Blaine huffed a wry chuckle.

"Nothing I didn't already know," Blaine said. "We're here," Blaine added as the suit slowed at the shuttle door and landed with a clunk.

"You sure you'll be all right?" Pepper asked nervously. The door closed and the shuttle's environmental controls restored life support.

"I'll be o--," Blaine cut off with a wince as the connection to the alien ship opened. The cacophony erupted throughout his mind, blinding him and sending him to the floor of the shuttle.

"Blaine?" Pepper asked urgently.

"Here," Blaine gritted out as he tried to blink the explosions of pain away.

"Jarvis, get him back here," Pepper ordered.

"No," Blaine countered urgently. "Wait," he pled. Blaine struggled to standing and took several deep breaths. He closed his eyes again and forced the pain out--the discordance barely waned, but Blaine persisted. He focused and searched the bedlam of sounds until he found them. Or rather, almost all of them.

"I feel them," Blaine said, desperately seeking the chaos for the one person he would always know.

"Are you sure?"

"Most of them," Blaine said as he extended his palms downward like Jarvis had instructed. The suit hovered, and Blaine rose unsteadily through the ceiling hatch. He winced at the continuing onslaught of pain.

"Most? Blaine?"

"I'm in," Blaine said in lieu of answering. He set down by the hatch and scanned the empty space. "Jarvis, you still there?"

"Yes. I have visual and audio still uplinked. I have detected two human life signs in a remote room and another two in what appears to be a medical facility. There are at least twenty aliens in each location."

"I can't find Steve," Blaine said quietly, urgently, as the pain blurred his vision.

"One of the individuals in the medical facility has shallow respiration, a weak heart rate, and critically low blood pressure."

"Is it--?"

"Yes," Blaine cut off Pepper's question, taking a deep breath. "Jarvis, get me to the medical facility."

"Blaine, your vitals are unsteady. I advise you rest before proceeding."

"And Steve's vitals?" Blaine argued. "Jarvis, please."

A moment later the ship's layout flickered onto the helmet's screen, along with several moving red dots. Blaine waved the door open and looked both ways down the hallway before exiting.

"Be careful," Pepper said.

"I'll do my best," Blaine replied.

*

The first two corridors were clear as Blaine's headache grew. He found himself stumbling several times, immediately stilling and holding his breath as he waited to be discovered. But no pounding footsteps approached, and the red dots on his screen remained in their immediate areas.

Blaine hastened when he could, his heart pounding faster the closer he got to the medical bay. A juncture away from the mass of red dots, Blaine slowed to catch his breath. He leaned heavily against the wall, darkness flickering at the edges of his consciousness.

"Six aliens guarding the exterior and six just inside," Blaine muttered.

"Yes, Blaine. Another 10 scattered about the room," Jarvis said soberly.

"And not much power left, right?"

"After the flight, the suit has approximately 20% left."

Blaine's head swam and he crouched to minimize the dizziness. Feeling a blast of cool air in the helmet, he breathed deeply.

"I've increased the oxygen levels in the suit to keep your pulse ox at suitable levels," Jarvis informed. "However, adrenaline levels are already taxing your heart. I am unsure how long your body will maintain its current status."

"Thank you," Blaine said. The pain slammed into his head at a near constant rate now, but Blaine forced it back just enough so he could think. "No point in waiting around." With that, he took a deep breath, raised his arms, and rounded the corner.

*

Blaine fired as soon as the aliens were in sight, aiming low and hoping nonlethal injuries would be enough to stop them. Caught by surprise, the tactic worked on four of the six guards. Blaine ducked the blasts from the other two and grabbed an abandoned weapon. He swung the staff at the aliens, knocking them into the opposite wall. An alien struggled to standing, but he dropped again when Blaine punched him.

Blaine didn't have time to marvel at how the suit's added power sent the alien back several feet because in the next instant, the door opened and shots flew past him. Blaine hurried to the door, ducking to the side until a staff weapon came into sight. He grabbed it and pulled, dragging an alien through the door and slamming him against the wall, where the alien slumped.

More blasts came out of the door. Blaine ducked again, lunging through the doorway and straight into the first alien he saw. Pain ricocheted through his brain. The alien struggled against him, but before Blaine could draw back a hand to throw a punch, the alien grew lax against him. Blaine let go of him, and the alien fell to the floor. 

The suit's power level dipped under 10% and the number flashed on the helmet screen. A shot hit Blaine in the back, sending him to his knees. He blinked away the flashes of light across his vision and reached for the nearest alien weapon. He turned and shot at the oncoming aliens, dropping two of them. The cacophony inside his head eclipsed the noises around him, and threatened his consciousness. Blaine blinked again, barely catching the alien creeping along the wall to his side. He swung the weapon and hit the alien in the head, toppling him. But the alien recovered and tackled Blaine, pulling both of them to the floor before Blaine could retaliate. The alien pinned him and weighed him down. As his headache nearly blinded him, Blaine struggled against his hold, and the alien grew heavy. When Blaine no longer met any resistance, he let out a rush of air, pushed the alien off him, and clambered to his feet, staff weapon back in hand.

When Blaine looked around, the armored aliens had their weapons trained on him, but made no move to approach or shoot. Two aliens, dressed as the medical staff on the other ship, held weapons aimed at Bruce and Steve.

Breathing heavily, Blaine kept his eyes darting from alien to alien, waiting for anyone to move. With a moment of stillness, Blaine pushed back against the pain in his head and let his vision clear.

Blaine raised his weapon tentatively. The aliens mimicked him. Bruce groaned when the alien pressed the weapon hard into his abdomen. Blaine lowered his weapon immediately, taking in more of Bruce and Steve. Bruce strained against his restraints, head turned to watch the scene before him. Steve remained unmoving, but even Blaine could see his paleness and the severity of his injuries from across the room. Another hard shove of the weapon against Bruce elicited a pained cry.

"Wait," Blaine said, holding his free hand up reflexively. An alien shouted strange words at him. Blaine lowered the staff weapon and let it clatter to the ground. "Please don't hurt them."

"Blaine?" Bruce asked weakly.

"Hey there, Bruce," Blaine answered lamely. The alien spoke again, foreign words sounding harsh as he waved his weapon at Blaine, then at Bruce and Steve.

"I--," Blaine started, but the pain in his head rose along with his panic. The aliens murmured and stepped back. The alien shouted at him again. Blaine focused on him, trying to isolate the alien's discordant cadence in his head. He shouted again, and a very out of tune and squealing trombone spiked in Blaine's mind.

Blaine took a deep breath and said, voice rough, "I'll stay." The alien spoke to the others, waving his weapon at him. "I'll stay," Blaine said more confidently, "if you let them go."

The leader eyed him and came closer, leveling the staff at Blaine's head.

"You've already taken their powers," Blaine said, voice trembling. "And whatever you're trying to do, worked on me. Take me and let them go."

Blaine held his breath as the alien eyed him, pushing down the chaos and panic as he waited.

Finally, the alien nodded. Blaine forced the breath out of his lungs and but for the suit's preformed shoulders, his would have slumped with relief. The leader barked out orders and the other aliens began moving--several closed in on Blaine while four loosened Steve and Bruce's restraints and hauled the two off the tables.

"Stop," Blaine cried out when Steve's body hung limply between two aliens, charred flesh and oozing blood now in full view. He stepped forward but stopped short, weapons and aliens appearing right in front of him. He held his hands up in surrender. "Please," he said, looking at the leader. "I'll take him back to their shuttle."

The leader spoke and the aliens relented, stepping back just enough to let Blaine pass.

"Blaine, what are you doing?" Bruce whispered as the aliens gripped his arms and pulled him toward the door.

"I'm kind of winging it right now," Blaine replied as he stepped up to Steve and the aliens still holding him up. He reached down around his legs and back, lifting him and cradling Steve's limp body as gently as he could.

A shove to his back propelled Blaine forward, and the aliens escorted him toward the door with weapons at his back.

"How are you?" Blaine asked when they left the medical bay.

"Fine. They opted for the non-sedation route this time around," Bruce answered wryly as he struggled to keep up with the aliens dragging him. "Steve's been unconscious since I've seen him. Blood loss isn't too bad, but he's got to have some internal bleeding. Probably a collapsed lung and several broken ribs."

Blaine chanced a look down at Steve, his head lolling back against the suit. Never in Blaine's imagination would he have pictured carrying Steve while wearing an iron man suit, and yet, here he was. His eyes filled with tears, not from the pain in his head, but from the pallid and nearly lifeless body in his arms.

Another shove brought him back to reality, and he gripped Steve tighter as he stumbled forward. They turned down another hallway, and the leader growled out something. More aliens appeared, doubling their escort. Blaine kept a discreet count and tried to keep track of where they were going. But his eyes kept returning to Steve--his pained expression, the way his chest rose shakily, and the gaping wounds to his abdomen and chest. When the aliens shoved him again with their weapons, Blaine took a tremulous breath and stifled his tears.

*

Natasha and Tony stood, warily eyeing the door as it slid open. Several aliens hastened in, and the force field disappeared. Weapons aimed at them, the aliens waited as another entered. He spoke in the alien language, and Natasha and Tony looked at each other.

"Hate to sound glib, but we haven't really mastered Klingon," Tony quipped. An alien fired his weapon at Tony's chest, the close impact sending him back against the wall.

"Stark," Natasha muttered, keeping her hands open and slightly raised.

"Fine," Tony said. "I'm fine," he repeated as the aliens grabbed him and Natasha and pulled them out of the room. Natasha stifled her wince as the aliens jarred her injured arm. Tony muttered curses but as soon as they exited the cell, Tony's tirade halted. "How the hell--?"

"It's me, Tony."

The aliens shoved Tony and Natasha forward, and the entire contingent resumed their path down the hall.

"You're wearing my suit," Tony griped from in front of Blaine. He looked back, only to receive a hard yank of his arm. "I told you to protect him, not let him drive."

"Technically, Fido is protecting me," Blaine pointed out.

"Fido?" Tony said incredulously. "You named him Fido? He's a Mark 11!"

"Can we do this another time?" Blaine grit out.

"You know where we're headed?" Tony asked.

"Back to the shuttle."

"They're letting us go?" Natasha asked from beside Bruce.

Blaine hesitated before answering, "That's the deal." Bruce looked back at him.

They arrived at the cargo room soon after, and the leader barked out more foreign words. Natasha and Bruce were shoved forward first, and they turned.

"Go," Blaine said. Natasha stepped back and climbed into the hatch.

"Blaine--," Bruce started, but Blaine cut him off.

"Go," he repeated, handing Steve off to Tony. "Take care of him," he added as the aliens pushed Tony toward the hatch. He turned around, eyeing the many aliens behind Blaine, and their raised weapons.

"What are you--?" Tony started but stopped when Blaine pressed a button on the suit. The helmet retracted, and the front panels shifted aside. Blaine stepped out of the suit, and it returned to its enclosed self. Fido stepped forward and lowered through the hatch. "You're the deal," Tony stated.

"Yeah," Blaine breathed out. He stepped forward but the leader shouted and several aliens advanced on Tony and Bruce. "Tell him I love him, please," Blaine said, backing up.

"Tell him yourself," Tony said.

"Tony," Blaine said.

"Yeah, sure," Tony agreed gruffly, though he didn't move. The leader spoke again, and this time one of the aliens fired at the hatch. Bruce ducked away, but took the hint. With a grim nod, he climbed down the ladder. Tony lowered Steve as gently as he could, Fido catching him at the bottom. Blaine swallowed roughly as Steve disappeared from sight. The alien fired at the hatch again. "I'm going," Tony snarked as he stepped onto the ladder. "We'll get you out," he said to Blaine.

"Just take care of each other," Blaine said.

As soon as Tony was through the hole, the aliens fired multiple shots to the hatch. The leader spoke into a communication device and a loud humming began.

"Get us out of here," Tony's muffled order filtered through the weapons' fire. The hatch sealed and Blaine heard the shuttle's engines start up just as the hull crackled to life.

Blaine's expression fell, and between the headache he gave up holding at bay and the sudden blow to his head, darkness was a welcome alternative to reality.


	8. Chapter 8

"Romanoff," Tony shouted over the roar of the engines as he helped Fido strap Steve in.

"You yelling isn't going to make me go any faster," Natasha advised, barely sitting on the pilot's chair to reach all the buttons with her good arm.

Bruce slammed a palm on the back panel, the shuttle jerking, and called out, "Ready."

Natasha pressed a button and grabbed the yoke, the shuttle dipping sideways for a moment before she gained control. The ship's hull crackled with electricity above them as Natasha guided the shuttle to a safe distance and turned around, letting the shuttle hover in place.

"What are we doing about Blaine?" Natasha asked.

Before anyone could answer, weapons fire flashed across their view. Another series of blasts skidded past, buffeting the shuttle and sending alarms flashing and ringing. Natasha altered course and sped away. Shots whizzed past them as she dipped and swerved the shuttle, trying to avoid any direct hits.

Bruce slid into the other seat and engaged the shuttle's countermeasures. Explosions littered the sky around them. Suddenly, the shuttle jolted, sending Tony and Fido slamming into the bulkhead, and Natasha almost out of her seat. Another alarm sounded and the shuttle listed forward, speeding its descent. The shuttle groaned and an engine sputtered. Debris from the shuttle fell around them.

"Starboard engine is down," Bruce called out, helping Natasha back into her seat and strapping her in while she tried to maintain control of the yoke.

"How far?" she asked as the shuttle continued its rapid descent.

"Seventy-five miles. I think I can adjust our trajectory for a sea landing," Bruce said. He pressed a few buttons, watching the shifting topography lines on the small console screen. Bruce pointed to the coordinates and Natasha nodded, tipping the yoke to the left.

"Well, at least we're out of range of their weapons now," Tony pointed out.

The remaining engine whined and thick black smoke drifted across their view. Natasha spared a glare back at Tony as the engine cut off with a screech and went silent.

"Right," Tony said. "Of course." He grabbed onto the rigging hanging from the ceiling and pointed at Fido. "Sit."

The shuttle began freefalling.

*

_I'm here._ Breath soft against his ear and warm arms around him. _I'm right here._ Soft press of lips to his. _I'll always be here._ Cold hands pulling him up, tugging him away. _Blaine, you have to wake up._

Blaine blinked against the brightness. Disoriented, it took him a few moments to realize that no one was holding him up and that he was laying on a cold metal bed. Memories flitted hazy through his mind and he breathed out slowly. Steve wasn't here. Blaine turned his head away from the harsh lights, exhaustion weighing heavy in his muscles, and let his headache swell. Instinctively, he lifted his hand to press against his temple, only to be stopped by thick restraints at his wrist.

Taking a deep breath, Blaine opened his eyes again and let his vision clear. Two aliens stood by a counter, busy looking at whatever was on a screen Blaine could just see the corner of. Needles held tubes to both his arms, settled in the crooks of his elbows. He tried to lift his head to see down his torso, but the effort was too much. He shifted his legs, and the tugging on his skin of his left thigh told him he must have another needle there too. Blane tipped his head to the other side clumsily, and found two aliens standing by the door, weapons held tight and eyes barely visible under their armor.

The pain in his head crested, and he saw one of the guards stumble before Blaine let out a rough whimper at the throbbing. An alien from the counter approached cautiously and, though he kept his distance, checked over the tubes and equipment attached to Blaine. Blaine struggled to clear his mind, not understanding the alien's actions. But the pain only grew when the alien edged closer to look down at him. The discordant noise pounded at his mind and blacked out the edges of his vision, and Blaine squinted at the alien, who suddenly slumped and braced himself against the table. The other alien said something, and the guards hurried over, hauling the slumped alien away. They lifted the limp and unresponsive alien to a bed at the other end of the room. The pain ebbed minutely.

Blaine looked down at the tubes connected to his arm, and the machines connected to them. The small screen on one brightened, and the machine's thrum increased. The ache in Blaine's head forced his eyes closed, and his consciousness wavered. He forced his fingers to move, to shift until they found the tube from his right elbow. His thoughts turned sluggish. Clumsy fingers bent the tube just before he fell victim to the increased sedative.

*

_"What are you doing?" Steve asked, voice gruff from the sleep he was just awakened from, as Blaine lifted Steve's arm, ducked under it, and wrapped himself around Steve. He blinked down at Blaine, lips tipped into a lazy smile._

_"Cold," Blaine stated as if it were obvious. He wrapped the blanket securely around them and slipped his cold fingers under Steve's shirt._

_"Okay," Steve breathed out, "but how does that translate to this?"_

_"Blanket burrito," Blaine said, tucking his cool nose against Steve's neck and draping a leg over Steve's thighs._

_The familiar weight and pressure against his side, the way Blaine slid his foot over his shin, and the fingers slowly twitching just under his ribs lulled Steve back to near unconsciousness._

_"Did you finish your paper?" Steve murmured._

_"Hmm," Blaine answered sleepily. "Twenty pages on how contemporary philosophers influenced the Baroque period."_

_"Tell me about it?" Steve asked._

_"Tomorrow," Blaine said with a snuffle as he rubbed his check against Steve's shoulder. "Sleep now. Blanket--."_

_"Burrito," Steve finished for Blaine, eliciting a soft chuckle and a light kiss on the jaw. Blaine's fingers twitched against his torso and his breathing deepened. Pulling Blaine closer to his side, Steve let out a contented sigh and fell back to sleep._

The cold seeped into Steve's consciousness before anything else. Then came the rocking, and the lapping of water against metal. Crashing. Water. Cold even his heightened metabolism couldn't fight. Freezing. So tired. He shivered.

"Hang on, Cap. Fury's got a shuttle less than five minutes out," Tony said gruffly, hanging onto a prone and floating Fido's shoulder.

"Tired," Steve murmured, breath cold in his lungs. Natasha looked at Tony over Steve, who they'd situated atop Fido. Bruce treaded water at the suit's feet.

"It's okay," Natasha soothed gently, leaning close to Steve's ear. "You can sleep."

"Blaine," Steve breathed, eyes still closed but arms shifting restlessly. Natasha laid a hand on his forearm, calming his movement.

"He's okay," Natasha said, garnering a sympathetic glance from Bruce.

"You'll be here, when I wake?" Steve mumbled.

Natasha took a deep breath before softly answering, "I'll try."

"Blaine?" Steve asked, agitated again. Natasha ran her hand up Steve's arm.

"Sleep now," Natasha whispered, just as the shuttle appeared from the east.

"Burrito," Steve murmured affectionately, voice lost to the engines rumbling above them, though his lips quirked into a small smile as he fell back to sleep.

_"Hmm, no," Blaine murmured when Steve kicked at the blanket, feeling overheated by their combined body heat and the thick comforter tucked tightly around them._

_"It's warm," Steve protested._

_"You're hot," Blaine countered sleepily._

_"Blaine," Steve huffed amusedly. He shifted the blanket and tucked it more securely around Blaine, freeing his own legs so they could cool. Blaine shuffled his limbs under the blanket, and slid further atop Steve, effectively covering his legs again. Steve chuckled._

_"No taking away my warmth," Blaine said petulantly._

_"Okay," Steve breathed out, wiggling his toes out from under the blanket. He wrapped his arm around Blaine again, kissing his temple._

_"Good," Blaine sighed out. He snuggled back in and fell back asleep._

Steve's toes weren't the only things warm, but when he woke, there was no huddled body tucked against his side. He tried to move his legs, but they felt both numb and heavy, uncoordinated. His arms felt the same. His entire body ached, and his lungs burned when he tried to take a deep breath.

Sounds filtered into his ears--a low thrumming and steady beep, the hiss of air, and muffled voices. Steve tried to open his eyes, but they too were uncooperative. His head lulled toward the voices and he heard them--Tony and Bruce, Natasha, Pepper, and Dr. Warren.

Steve spoke but nothing came out. He swallowed slowly, dryly, and tried again. The croaked sound got someone's attention because the voices quieted and Steve felt a hand on his shoulder. He swallowed again.

"Where's Blaine?" he asked, voice barely there.

*

Blaine woke again, this time his thoughts focusing much quicker. He opened his eyes slowly, giving his eyes time to adjust. Lifting his head minutely, he looked down at his hand, the thin tubing still bent and clasped in his palm having stopped the flow of light blue fluid into his arm. He surreptitiously looked around the room, spying only the two guards at the door.

The guards leaned heavily on their weapons, and as awareness grew in Blaine's mind--and the atonal thrumming--the guards nearly stumbled. Blaine focused away from the guards, pushing the pain away, and watched the guards shake their heads and exchange harsh sounding words.

Things fell into place in Blaine's mind--how the aliens that had physically tried to stop him while he was in the suit would fall unconscious after only a few seconds, and why the medic had to be carried away from his bedside.

Blaine took a deep breath and opened his mind as much as he could, wincing as the cacophonous symphony rushed in. One of the guards fell to his knees and the other shouted at him. He rushed at Blaine, weapon aimed at his head, and yelled more foreign words though they came out sluggish and jumbled. Blaine focused his mind more, and the alien jabbed his weapon hard against Blaine's abdomen. Tears threatened to fall at the pain and Blaine reflexively tensed and held his breath, expecting the weapon to discharge.

No blast came, only the weapon digging further into his abdomen as the alien collapsed onto Blaine. Blaine shook off his surprise, gulping in air, and spared a glance at the other guard, who had fallen to the floor. Blaine twisted his wrist in the restraint and crookedly grasped the weapon still pressed into his stomach, slowly maneuvering it out from under the alien. He tried to elbow the alien off him, but the restraints limited his movement. Still, he had the weapon and, ignoring the pounding behind his eyes, he aimed the staff at the edge of the bed between his legs. If the medical tables were the same as the other ship, the controls to the restraints were there. Hoping he missed his own limbs, Blaine squinted and discharged the weapon.

The noise and kickback elicited a grunt from the alien still partially lying atop Blaine, but it only took a few seconds of Blaine's focus for the guard to be silenced and stilled once again. Blaine fired again, the heat of the blast warming his feet. This time the restraints tightened, then Blaine heard a series of clicks. Blaine lifted his legs and the restraints gave way. His arms followed, and he shoved the alien to the floor. Sitting up, he slowly pulled the needles from his arms and bent his elbows to stem any bleeding.

Blaine looked around before swinging his legs over the edge of the table. Feeling lightheaded, he sat still and after a few moments, felt steady enough to assess the punctures in his arms. There was a little blood, but it was already beginning to coagulate. Bracing himself, he tugged the larger needle from his thigh. Pressing down on the wound with his palm, he hopped off the bed and limped over to the cabinets along the wall. Opening them quickly, he found something akin to gauze and grabbed it. Blaine wrapped it tightly around his thigh, covering the wound and tying the fabric off.

He limped back toward the bed and retrieved the staff weapon, taking a few deep breaths so as to not be overwhelmed by the pounding sounds that he let flood his mind. With one last look at the slumped aliens, he made his way to the door and slipped out.

*

Dr. Warren clicked her tongue as she entered the control room, seeing a pale and swaying Steve standing off to the side. His eyes remained focused on the various monitors displaying satellite images, schematics, and numerous readings.

"Steve," the doctor said as she stopped next to him, "you should be lying down. Your injuries won't heal well, and you're fighting off both infection and bronchitis. You should be--."

"I'm fine," Steve interrupted softly, his eyes still trained on the screens mounted on the walls and hands clasped behind his back.

"You've been awake for nearly 24 hours," Dr. Warren continued.

"And I was asleep for more than that," Steve countered. "I'm fine," he insisted, though he coughed wetly.

Dr. Warren sighed. She held out a water bottle and a small paper cup.

"At least take your meds."

Steve looked at the woman and with a small nod, he accepted the pills and water. Steve drank most of the water in one gulp and handed the bottle back to the doctor, his attention back on the moving images.

Natasha entered as the doctor left, the two women sharing a look. Natasha pushed a wheelchair ahead of her with her good arm. Without a word, she parked the chair beside Steve and adjusted her sling around her broken arm. She eyed him with a sidelong glance until he looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Sit," she ordered. When Steve looked wary, she reasoned, "that way if you collapse, I don't have to drag your ass down the hall and back to the infirmary."

Steve hesitated, but a look from Natasha that was equal parts no nonsense and sympathetic convinced him to accept her offer. He carefully maneuvered into the chair, wincing as he jostled his stitched together wounds. He grimaced as the dull pain flared in his abdomen and shoulder, but once he was settled in the wheelchair, he let out a slow breath.

Natasha placed a gentle hand on his good shoulder, and the two stayed there, watching in silence.

*

Vaguely recollecting the ship's layout from Fido's helmet screen, Blaine made his way slowly down the hallway. He couldn't sabotage the ship like they'd done before, not without Bruce. Besides, he had no idea how much time had passed or if the ship was even still in Earth's orbit.

Gripping the weapon tightly, Blaine made his way down the corridors quickly. The screeching pain in his mind increased, and Blaine slowed the further he went. He turned down the hallway to the cargo bay they had entered from, only to trip back around the corner. Several armed aliens surrounded the area, and a loud buzzing came from the room. Blaine took a deep breath to calm his nerves and crept close to the side, peering out to see the aliens pacing. He forced his mind to let more pain in and several guards faltered in their stride. Blaine closed his eyes against his blurring vision and slumped against the wall, breathing ragged and shallow, as the discordant pain grew too much for his head and radiated throughout his body. He pressed his fists to his head, futilely trying to keep it contained.

Shouts echoed down the corridor, weapons and armor clattered against the floor, and the buzzing sound cut off abruptly. But none of it reached Blaine’s ears, so loud was the ache in his head and so distracting was the numbing tingle in his limbs.

Long moments passed before Blaine straightened, legs feeling wobbly and fingers nearly dropping the staff. He blinked and took several deep breaths, forcing himself back to full consciousness. He wavered under the continuing pain, but held fast to his weapon and pushed one foot in front of the other.

Looking up at the now silent hallway, Blaine hesitated in his new determination. With wide eyes and measured footsteps, he counted the fallen aliens—17. As he neared the open cargo bay, he stepped over the slumped bodies and found another seven collapsed figures in the room. Twenty-four aliens, armored and armed, had fallen and he’d not had to fire his weapon once, at least not the one in his hand.

*

"Any word?" Tony asked as he jogged up behind Bruce.

Bruce looked up from the tablet in his hand and shook his head.

"I'm heading to Ops to check on Steve," Bruce said with a vague wave of his hand.

"Hasn't left, huh?" Tony asked, uncharacteristically somber. "It's been two days."

"Two days and nine hours," Bruce corrected. "Natasha says he's only left for bathroom breaks."

The two walked quickly down the hall, barely pausing for the door that slid open at their approach. They entered the control room and easily found Steve, sitting in a wheelchair, but further along the wall, being as unobtrusive as possible. Natasha nodded in acknowledgement as they approached.

"Steve," Bruce said gently. When Steve looked up at him, he continued, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Steve answered simply, looking back at the wall of monitors.

"I'm going to check--," Bruce trailed off as he knelt by Steve's side. He lifted Steve's shirt and carefully peeled the bandages away from Steve's chest and torso one at a time, checking on the healing wounds. Steve merely sat still and staring straight ahead. Tony stood back, letting Bruce work as he too checked the readings on the various screens. Bruce finished up, tugging Steve's shirt back in place and patting the man's knee. He stood.

"Why don't you and Natasha grab an early dinner?" Bruce suggested. "Tony and I can stay."

"I'm not hungry," Steve said stoically.

"Come on, Cap," Natasha said lightly, encouragingly. "I heard the cafeteria's attempting Beef Stroganoff again."

"You hate it," Steve countered.

"Well, yeah, but you don't," Natasha challenged.

"Bring me back some," Steve said, sad eyes flicking to hers before returning to the screens.

Natasha smiled bracingly and sighed, "Yeah." With a tilt of her head, she assessed Steve for a long moment. She laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I'll be back soon."

Bruce and Natasha left, leaving Tony standing restlessly beside Steve.

"How could you let him go?" Steve asked quietly, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"It was his choice," Tony answered soberly. "And he saved all of us."

*

Heart pounding loud in his ears, vision hazy and dark, and sounds crashing and reverberating in his mind, Blaine navigated around the unresponsive aliens and took off down the hall, carelessly slamming his shoulder against the walls multiple times in his clumsy haste. When he was a good distance away, he braced himself against a wall. Breathing hard, he felt his brain shutting down against the continued onslaught of pain. His eyes slipped shut as he leaned heavily on the staff.

Long moments passed as Blaine desperately grasped for consciousness, pushing his thoughts back into order and steadily slowing his breathing. He let the reality of the situation--of his ability--settle in his mind. It grounded him, and he felt the pain disappear from a corner of his mind where his thoughts collected. And though the discordance thrashed at the tiny oasis, it held fast and Blaine found his vision clearing and his breathing evening out.

Blaine felt the aliens before he heard them, recognizing the numerous additions to his mind's chaotic storm. He pushed off the wall and aimed his weapon down the still vacant corridor, waiting as the sounds grew in his mind.

Footfalls grew louder and Blaine opened his mind again, the task seemingly easier the more he did it. The steady thumping of metal boots faltered, and several shouts echoed down the hall as metal clanged and clattered heavily.

When it was again silent, Blaine took a deep breath and cautiously made his way to the end of the hall. Turning left, moving down a short stretch, and turning left again, Blaine found the contingent of aliens slumped against each other and on the floor, just as the group by the cargo bay were. Only ten here from what Blaine could see but he did not linger. Though his breathing was now coming in short gasps and fatigue weighed heavy in his chest and limbs, he pressed on.

Blaine made it to the bridge without encountering any more aliens, and stopped at the closed door. He debated whether he could disable the control panel as Bruce had done for only a second, deciding instead to aim the staff weapon and fire at the small pad of buttons. The panel sparked and smoked, and the door lock disengaged. Shoving the weapon between the door and frame, he wedged it open. Shouts came from the other side, and Blaine aimed the weapon through the slightly ajar door. He could make out several aliens pointing their weapons back at him. He fired again, eliciting another uproar of shouts. He shoved the door open another few inches.

Blaine loosened the hold on his mind and watched several aliens slump, and a couple weapons slip from large armored hands. The other aliens hesitated, lowering their weapons and looking at each other. Blaine pushed the door all the way open then, and kept his staff aloft. Looking around the small bridge, he counted at least fifteen aliens. He didn't miss the large window, and the expanse of darkness on the other side.

"You know what I can do," Blaine said slowly, shakily. "Take me home."

A few of the aliens spoke in harsh tones, and though Blaine could not understand the language, the way all of them raised their weapons gave him plenty of indication.

"Take me home," Blaine repeated more steadily, trying to sound confident.

An alien off to the side shook his head. Two aliens stepped forward, but Blaine responded quickly and the two fell heavily to the floor. Blaine's vision blurred again. The others stepped back. The alien who appeared to be in charge spoke, waving the others back and leaning his weapon against the wall. Blaine eyed him warily.

"I just want to go home," Blaine said, voice plaintive now. The alien spoke again, but Blaine still had no idea what he was saying. He caught an alien moving in his periphery and tipped his staff in his direction. The alien paused and the leader shouted. Blaine swung his weapon back at him but more movement behind the leader caught his attention. Blaine discharged the weapon, hitting a console and startling the aliens back.

Smoke wafted from the charred metal, and flames flickered to life. An alarm sounded. The ship tipped forward. Scuffling and commanding voices mixed with the blaring klaxons and the incongruous orchestration in Blaine's mind. The ship shook angrily as it listed to the side. Rough hands grabbed him as an unfamiliar blue and green planet shifted into view. A weapon shoved into his abdomen stifled his breathing.

Blaine let go of his thoughts and the screeching, atonal symphony swirled around his brain, accumulating more sounds like a tornado picking up anything in its path. His vision dimmed until only shadows passed his tunneled view.

Blaine didn't know it, but aliens lost consciousness all around him--dropping to the floor before their heavy footsteps reached his ears, and slumping onto consoles and against walls before weapons could even be picked up. Aliens on every level and in every room fell, leaving the cavernous ship silent save the groans of the bulkheads as it descended rapidly toward the planet. Blaine didn't know because he too had fallen to the floor, the ruthless sounds proving too much for his senses and finally pushing him under.


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue leads into CA2 pretty heavily. I hadn’t seen the movie before I wrote this, so I was extrapolating from .gif sets and spoilers, and hoping it meshed with what I had in mind for the ending prior to knowing anything about the movie. (It's been 6 years and I'm too lazy to fix it if it doesn't at this point if it doesn't.)

"Talk to him," Pepper ordered sternly.

"And say what?" Tony shot back. "He won't listen. Romanoff's the only one who's gotten through to him so far. And that was just to get him to shower after three days."

Bruce set his tablet down and said, "It's been a week. Steve's showing signs of infection and he needs to rest. Dr. Warren's worried about sepsis." 

"Short of shutting down the control room or forcefully sedating him, he's not going anywhere," Tony argued. Bruce tipped his head thoughtfully. "No," Tony said, eyeing both Bruce and Pepper. "And I'm actually disappointed you even considered it."

"Fine," Pepper relented. "I'll talk to Natasha."

*

Steve awoke abruptly, head jerking back up and eyes wide. He blinked, vision clearing as he took in the control room--the same low thrumming of computers, the quiet murmurs of analysts and technicians, and the steady scrolling of data and images.

"Hey," Natasha greeted tiredly from her seat next to him. Steve looked at her.

"How long was I out?"

"Just about two hours."

"Get some rest," Steve ordered roughly before returning his gaze to the room.

"You're not my boss," Natasha countered simply, carefully readjusting her injured arm.

"Nat," Steve said more gently, "I appreciate what you're doing, but you should get some sleep."

"I'll sleep when you do," Natasha said stubbornly. Steve sighed and they lapsed into silence.

"Look, you're fighting an infection," Natasha reasoned several minutes later, with a vague wave at the I.V. Dr. Warren placed in Steve's elbow on his fourth day awake. "And you don't look to be improving. You need real sleep."

Natasha let Steve take in her words before continuing softly, "It's been a week."

"I won't give up," Steve stated.

"I know. But if an opportunity arises to get Blaine back, you need to be well enough to do it, right?"

Steve looked at Natasha's unrelenting gaze and infallible logic.

"I'll stay," Pepper volunteered, having moved from the other side of the room when she noticed Steve awake. "I'll wake you if anything happens."

Steve looked at the two women and conceded with a small nod. Natasha stood.

"Come on," she said, crouching to unlock the wheelchair's brakes. Pepper squeezed Steve's hand before Natasha maneuvered the chair, and Steve, out of the room.

*

“Jarvis, try it now.”

“Sensors have increased by 50 miles. Capacity may be as great as 100 miles depending on satellite telemetry and solar activity.”

“Nothing, though?” Tony asked, scanning the readings appearing on the screen.

“No, sir.”

“The alien ship left orbit before we crash landed in the Atlantic,” Bruce reasoned. “Given what we know about their ship’s propulsion system, they could be light years away by now.”

“Right, and 100 miles is just a chip of the iceberg, got it,” Tony grumbled.

“Your improvements will greatly influence space travel and research,” Jarvis offered.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Tony said with a sigh. He tossed his stylus on his worktable and rubbed his forehead.

“Fury’s pushed the timeline on outfitting a shuttle for space travel,” Bruce encouraged. “Though they are still having problems with fuel storage."

"Do you miss him?" Tony asked abruptly.

"Blaine?” Bruce clarified. “Of course."

"No, the Hulk."

"Sometimes,” Bruce said thoughtfully. “Sometimes not. It's nice not having to worry about breaking a building, or you know, a neighborhood."

"And if you could have him back?"

"I don't know. It’s not a question I’ve had to answer yet."

“So, no luck unlocking the big guy and super cap?”

Bruce’s somber expression was answer enough.

*

_“Come on,” Blaine called back, breathless and encouraging. He jogged backwards a few paces, expertly sidestepping a pedestrian walking a corgi. The early morning sun filtered through the trees, causing him to squint back at Steve. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, the warm band of metal on his finger shining bright._

_“How can you be so cheerful this early in the morning?” Steve griped playfully as he caught up and they resumed their job along the path._

_“Well, it’s not every day I get to outrun my fiancé,” Blaine teased._

_“You haven’t outrun me yet,” Steve pointed out._

_“True,” Blaine conceded. “But I have a better chance with still-in-training non-serum you.”_

_Steve huffed and sped up. Blaine followed easily._

_“I wasn’t very good at basic training,” Steve mused._

_“Is that what this is?” Blaine asked_

_“Feels like it,” Steve answered, rubbing his heaving chest._

_“I can think of a better incentive than extra rations or a ride back in the jeep,” Blaine intimated. Steve looked at him curiously. “I’ll let you use your imagination,” Blaine added with a wicked smile and a brush of fingertips at his side. Steve’s already exertion-flushed cheeks reddened and Blaine took off with a laugh, Steve scrambling to speed up and keep Blaine in sight along the winding paths of Central Park._

Steve woke slowly, Blaine’s laughter echoing in his ears and phantom warmth trailing along his hip.

*

Steve stepped into the Ops Center, eyes alert and assessing.

“No more I.V.,” Natasha noted, pleased, as she straightened from looking at a screen an analyst was pointing at.

“Dr. Warren has officially discharged me,” Steve said as he read the information scrolling down a monitor of the left.

Natasha spoke quietly to the young man before joining Steve by the door.

“So, you’re feeling better?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes,” Steve breathed out. “Three days confined to bed in the infirmary, and another two in recovery, does wonders,” he said wryly.

“I’m fairly certain Dr. Warren slipped some sedatives in with your antibiotics.”

“Hmm. I thought as much too,” Steve stated. “We had a talk about that.”

“She won, didn’t she?”

Steve looked at her, a smile ghosting across his lips. Natasha smirked. Sadness flashed in Steve’s eyes before his controlled expression returned.

“Fury’s got a mission for me.”

“Is your arm--?” Steve asked, waving his hand at her sling.

“Still broken,” Natasha said with a frown. “But this should be easy. Just recon. You game?”

“I’d rather not.”

“You should get back out there,” Natasha advised. “You know Tony and Bruce would pull us if they heard anything.”

“Maybe next time,” Steve said noncommittally, eyes back on the monitors.

Natasha watched Steve for a long moment before saying, “I’ll see you in a couple days.”

*

_“How have you never ice skated?” Blaine asked, bouncing on his toes and grinning._

_“I’ve been on a lot of ice,” Steve replied as he pulled one last time on the tied laces and stood up. “Just not with skates.”_

_“How--?” Blaine inquired, tugging Steve closer by his jacket._

_“It was the war,” Steve answered matter-of-factly. “Not a lot of time to lace up a pair of skates and take a lap when pursuing the enemy.”_

_“Well, you have time now,” Blaine said kindly, fitting his gloved hand against Steve’s bare palm._

_Steve squeezed his hand and agreed, “That I do.”_

_The two made their way into the rink, Steve holding tight to Blaine as he took tentative steps onto the ice. They stopped just inside the wall._

_“You’re going to have to ease up,” Blaine said, pulling Steve’s hand to his lips and kissing the warm knuckles. Steve loosened his fingers, looking chagrined. Blaine pressed up on his blades and kissed Steve. “You’re going to be fine,” he whispered conspiratorially. Steve smiled._

_Staying close to the wall, they made their way around the rink. Steve learned quickly, his enhanced balance lending to the ease of catching on. And though his muscles didn’t protest the exertion, Steve felt the unfamiliar pull of the repetitive motion._

_Two laps in, Blaine was holding both of Steve’s hands and skating backwards, pulling them along a circular path of figure eights._

_“You’ve got it!” Blaine said excitedly, face pinked from the cold and breath fogging between them. “You can let go,” he pointed out with a smile._

_Steve only held on tighter, making Blaine laugh and brightening his eyes. His laughter grew when Steve pulled him close, and Steve kissed the delighted smile right there in the middle of the rink._

_“I’m never letting you go,” Steve said breathlessly, lips brushing Blaine’s. Blaine wrapped his arms securely around Steve’s shoulders._

_“Good,” Blaine murmured before pressing back in for another kiss._

*

Steve hefted his large army duffel onto the back of his motorcycle and settled it into place. He tied the bag in place and set another atop it.

“Were you going to let me know you were heading out?” Natasha called out the window of her car. The car idled loudly in the underground parking lot.

Steve looked up from his task, tugging absently at the straps holding the bags in place.

“I thought you were on another mission,” Steve replied.

“I got back last night,” Natasha tossed out. “So, D.C.”

“You did say I should get back out there.”

“I meant a couple days at a time. Not relocation.”

“I need a change.”

“It’s only been three weeks. You could take more time to--.”

“I’m not giving up,” Steve insisted. “But I can’t stay here right now. I can’t keep waiting and doing nothing.”

They shared a look and Natasha said lightly, “Well, it just so happens that Fury’s requested me for temporary assignment in Washington.”

“That’s a coincidence,” Steve mused, unhooking a helmet from the handlebar and donning it.

“It is,” Natasha agreed with a smirk. She revved her car as Steve straddled the motorcycle and turned the ignition. Steve tapped his fingers to the helmet in salute and Natasha took off. Steve followed in her wake, and they made their way onto the busy New York streets.

*

This early in the morning, when the sun barely peeked over the horizon, Steve took his time. He warmed up with a lap of walking, then as he rounded the Lincoln Memorial, he started to jog. His now regular routine of five laps—a little over 10 miles—typically kept him busy for 90 minutes. The District awoke around him, and other runners joined him on the well-trodden loop.

The regimen left his muscles buzzing and breath coming quicker, but his daily workouts combined with weight training and martial arts practice, were improving his stamina and strength.

Steve started the day like he’d started all his days in D.C., though the urge to run came well before he completed his first lap. He ran fast, letting his lungs burn and feet pound hard on the pavement. As the sun crept up behind the Washington Monument, he kept going. By the time he reached lap five, his legs were reflexively pumping, his muscles fell easily into the rhythm, and his breathing had evened. But he didn’t stop. Instead, he kept running the familiar track, not paying attention to how easily he passed everyone else on the path, or passed the same people again and again.

*

Blaine blinked slowly, feeling weightless and unfamiliar. Light filled the room, but there were no harsh bulbs overhead. A blanket covered him and as he moved his fingers, the fabric was soft and warm. He turned his head, the motion feeling strange. Swallowing also felt foreign, as if he had not done it in a long time.

“You have arisen,” an unfamiliar voice, stern and confident, spoke.

Blaine blinked again and a woman came into focus, hair a dark brunette and hanging in loose curls around her face. A breastplate shimmered in the light, and she sat in a large wooden chair.

“Where--,” Blaine started to ask, but his voice came out barely a whisper.

“You must drink,” the woman ordered, offering a large cup. She leaned forward to lift his head as she tipped the cup to his lips. Blaine opened his mouth and let the liquid slide down his throat. The woman tipped the cup back up after a few seconds, and settled his head back on the pillow.

“You have questions,” she stated. Blaine nodded.

“Who are you?” Blaine tried again. This time his voice was rough, but louder.

“I am Lady Sif. And you are the son of Ander,” the woman answered. “Thor has told me much about you.”

“Thor’s here?” Blaine croaked out.

“Not at present. But he will return soon.”

“Return here?” Blaine asked slowly, his thoughts feeling just as unused as his body. “Where is here?”

“Here is Asgard.”

“How did I get here?”

“A ship crashed in the far north of our planet, creating a devastation of great proportion,” Lady Sif explained. “Hundreds of aliens lay among the wreckage, not all dead, but certainly all asleep. And you lay amidst them.”

“The ship,” Blaine said. “The ship crashed.”

“You have impressive abilities.”

“What--?” Blaine trailed off as worry set in. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

Lady Sif shook her head and set a reassuring hand on his arm.

“Your mind holds a great power.”

Blaine closed his eyes, but then he blinked them open as confusion set in.

“I can’t feel you,” he said uncertainly. He couldn’t feel anyone; he wasn’t weighed down by the insistent cacophony in his mind.

“In order for your body and mind to heal, we had to take it away,” Lady Sif supplied. “It would have killed you otherwise.”

“Take it away? It’s gone?”

“Not gone. Merely blocked. We can restore it if you would like.”

“Um,” Blaine floundered, thoughts scattering to the possibility. “Maybe later?.”

“Very well,” Lady Sif commented easily, unaware of Blaine’s sudden conflict.

“You said abilities? As in more than one?”

“Yes, son of Ander.” Lady Sif smiled. “Aside from your mind, you can grow a beard that rivals the greatest warriors of Asgard.”

Blaine lifted his hand from under the blanket and felt his jaw, now covered in curly hair. His laughter burst out of him, and seemed to fully reawaken him.

“Can I go home? Does Steve know I’m here? How long was I asleep?” The questions rushed out of him.

“I think it unwise for you to return to your Earth.”

“Why?” Blaine’s suddenly lightened mood turned dark.

“After your appearance, I traveled to your home,” Lady Sif said. “The house which your Captain and friends allied themselves with has fallen. Many evil forces fight each other.”

“What--? I don’t understand,” Blaine said, breath catching in his throat.

“She means SHIELD has fallen,” Thor said soberly, coming into the room. “And while the Man of Iron remains, none of the other Avengers could be found.”


End file.
